#MWTO | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

writingsbychlo · 4 years

Text

more ways than one (01)

word count; 4951

summary; your first meeting with the stranger you rescued doesn’t go as smoothy as you’d hoped.

notes; I remind y’all that Stiles was possessed, but it veers off and it goes away, it’s not really mentions how, but the nogitsune never splits from Stiles. Allison is still alive, and Malia and Stiles are not a couple. Oh, and Derek is away travelling with Cora. That’s about it.

warnings; violence, choking, aggression.

You chewed on the straw in your mouth absentmindedly, your gaze trailing off into the distance as the girls talked constantly around you. You were vaguely following the conversation as they spoke, the girls chatting loudly about everything you had all been through lately, as though the supernatural was public information and they didn’t care about the opinions of those tables around you all who could easily eavesdrop if they bothered to listen closely.

Your eyes were squinted a little, the sun shining down and giving a warm feeling over the day, despite the storm that was due to set in later on in the day, and Lydia had texted you all this morning and told you to be ready to go for a late lunch while it was warm. She claimed that after everything that had happened with Stiles’ brief run-in with possession, and the year of supernatural crap that had gone down during your sophomore year, that you were all well overdue a lunch date to chat. That, and she was taking the opportunity to introduce Malia to the world of once again being bi-pedal and human.

Said strawberry-blonde snapped her fingers in front of your face, calling your attention to her and your thoughts snapped away from the nightmare you had somehow landed yourself in, your eyes focusing in on her as you pulled your milkshake away from your mouth, smiling as casually as you could as you looked at her. Her eyes were narrowed, lips pursed as she studied you carefully, before her lips were twisting up in a smirk.

“What’cha thinking about so hard there, girly?”

You cleared your throat, shaking your head and smiling casually as you lifted one of your fries to your mouth, chewing on the soft potato as you shrugged at her, trying your best to play it cool, but the four sets of eyes on you were throwing you through a loop. “Nothing.” You watched them carefully, swallowing the milkshake before taking a long sip of your milkshake, the chocolate flavour filling your mouth and she merely hummed, Allison was snickering as she turned to whisper to Kira, and Malia simply watched the interactions, taking the last bite of her double-cheeseburger and licking the sauce from the edge of her mouth, humming happily around the food.

“So, you’re not thinking about a pale and male-covered boy with brown hair and bright eyes?” You practically choked on your drink as Allison questioned you, your eyes wide as you wondered whether they’d found out about the lookalike you’d stashed at Derek’s loft, and you sputtered for an explanation, your cheeks heating up with a red flush, Kira cracking up and slapping the huntress on the arm as the two curled into each other in a fit of giggles.

“She’s totally thinking about Stiles, look at her blushing!”

You felt relief seep into your body as the tension slipped away, your body slumping in the seat as you rolled your eyes, your racing heart calming as your secret remained safe, for now. “Wait, am I missing something? Why would I be thinking about Stiles?”

Lydia picked at her acrylic nails, not even bothering to look up at you as she spoke. “Maybe because you’re totally into each other?”

“What?”

“Oh, come on. You know the two of you have gotten super close, lately!” Allison insisted, and your brows rose as you glanced around the other girls, and Lydia mumbled her agreement as she sipped at her water, a half-eaten salad sitting in front of her.

“When I first met you guys, I thought you were together,” Kira added, and you rolled your eyes, nibbling on your lower lip as embarrassment flooded through your system, the copy-cat male you’d hidden away yesterday slipping from your mind as thoughts of the original filled your thoughts. You loved your best friend, you truly did, and you couldn't deny how much closer you’d gotten to him lately, but it was only because he’d come to you when he started to feel the effects of his possession, confiding in you long before anyone else had. “I think you’d be cute together.”

“Are they not together?” Malia muttered, looking intently at the uneaten food on your plate, and you giggled as you offered it up to her, a bright smile taking over his face as she accepted the plate ad placed it down on top of her own empty one, quickly tucking into your leftover food.

“C’mon girls, he’s totally in love with Lyds, since like third grade. You know this, he’s not exactly subtle.” You teased, knowing it was true. The boy spoke about her all the time, and while he hadn't quite been as vocal about it, you knew he was still pining for the red-head girl.

“Everyone’s a little bit in love with me, but not everyone holds hands with their best friend.” You snorted unattractively, giving her a side-eye and leaning back, your legs crossing proudly as you thought about it.

“When have I ever held hands with Stiles?”

“Uh, like six times over the past three months?” Kira objected, the others all making various sounds of agreement as you watched Malia finish your meal too, a proud smile on her face as she leaned back in her chair, legs parted and hands sitting on her stomach as she groaned happily at the feeling of having a full stomach.

“Three of those times he was unconscious, one of those times he was going into a bathtub full of ice and one of those times he was checking into a nuthouse.” You pointed out, and the banshee counted them off on her fingers, wiggling a finger at you as she smiled.

“That makes five, what about the sixth time?”

You shrugged, deciding to bait them a little, a sigh falling from your lips. “You’re right, me and Stiles are totally and madly in love. You caught us out.” Their jaws dropped as they leaned forwards, a collection of squeals sounding as you tried to keep a straight face, eventually cracking up, and one by one they caught on as they scowled at you, Allison flicking you in the arm and Lydia pinching the other one, and you jumped away from both of them, rubbing your arms as you all but cackled at having fooled them.

The conversation moved on as they began to focus on other things, and you pulled your phone from your pocket, two messages flashing up on the screen and you clicked on the first, rolling your eyes as you opened the message from Stiles.

[batman 🦇💛] bring me ur leftover pizza back from lunch?

can’t, malia ate it, whoops x

[batman 🦇💛] >:( I can’t believe this, does 12yrs of friendship mean nothing to u?!

You grinned, rolling your eyes and tuning out the taunts and whistles you got from the group around you as they realised you were texting your best friend, your fingers flying over the screen as you typed out your reply, checking the time before you did.

according to the girls, it means we r in love x

[batman 🦇💛] ha. funny. ive seen u eat sand. couldnt kiss u now.

shut up, dumbass. I was 6 and u dared me x

[batman 🦇💛] kinda sad to kno the girl i'm in love w/ thinks i love u but that's my luck.

You cooed, rolling your eyes and promising that you’d text him later as you swiped out to the other text, your stomach churning as you realised it was from Derek. Admittedly, he was only asking about his loft, and whether you’d been over to check everything was okay, but it still made guilt twist at your guts before you sent a half-true reply, choosing instead to cover up the real facts.

Instead, you chose to tell him that you had definitely been over to check and that everything was tip-top okay, neglecting to tell him that you were stashing a supernatural double of your best friend only two weeks after he was mysteriously possessed and released, and that he was cut up and injured and arrived from a weird storm. Minor details.

Clearing your throat, you pulled out a handful of notes from your purse, placing them down in the amount that you owed as you excused yourself from the table, balancing the strap of your bag on your shoulder and smiling at the complaints of your friends as they encouraged you to stay, but it was already nearing the late afternoon and early evening, and you needed to grow the courage to return to the scene of your crime.

The pharmacy was only a quick walk around the corner, and you’d made sure to park your car outside of it so that none of them would see you leaving and entering the building with a suspicious amount of medical supplies, and you pulled the crumpled paper with your list pulled on out of your pocket. Smoothing the crumpled item out in the palm of your hand, the bell above the door jingled, the air conditioning washing over you immediately and you shivered at the sudden temperature drop upon entering the shop.

Peering at your own writing, you smiled uneasily at the cashier who was watching you, a kid who’d graduated just a year or two earlier, and her eyes narrowed on you as you moved through the shelves. Plucking one of the plastic shopping baskets from the side, you held it carefully in your arms, avoiding their scrutinising gaze.

Paper Stitches.

Your eyes scanned over the shelf, a surprising number of options displayed before you, and even the first option was already showing you the impact that this little shop was going to have on your bank account, and you simply prayed it would be worth it. Taking the largest size and strongest strength in your hand, you shrugged to yourself, dropping it into the basket and scanning the other ones. You could always pick up another size of you needed them, but you were definitely going to need at least two boxes of these ones for now.

You couldn't help the scowl on your face as the sum total began to add up in your mind, moving along the aisle to the wrapping sand covers,

Bandages. Gauze.

There were far too many options of bandages and covers, a jumble between compression wraps, light and thick material covers and thick and padded gauze. You could barely tell the difference between any of the options, and you began to think that maybe you should have paid a little more attention to the quick google search you’d done earlier as to what you actually needed.

First up, a collection of thick, cotton wool paddings to place over the large gashes the man had obtained, followed by gauze and bandages, a hand rubbing over your forehead as the collection began to gather up in the bottom of the basket. Your fingers brushed over the rolls of medical tape, and you dropped a roll of that in too, knowing you’d need something to fasten the material to his torso with.

You skirted around the corner to the next set of shelves, your cheeks flaring in a blush as you caught the suspicious gaze she was giving you, and you cleared your throat, holding your head high as you ignored the judgement hanging on her sights.

Antiseptic Wash. Hand Sanitizer. Cotton Balls.

100 cotton balls in a bag for three dollars felt like a good enough offer for you, and you dropped it into the basket, humming to the tune playing over the radio above your head as you swiped a large bottle of antiseptic wash from its place, and finally, a few of the small bottles of hand sanitizer, because you’d been needing some more of that anyway.

You hadn't quite been ready for the odd glare the ex-peer had given you when you placed the basket on the counter, and her eyes moved slowly between the items and your eyes, a sarcastic smile on her lips as she slowly began to ring them up, placing them all in a paper bag for you and ensuring they would all fit.

In a bid to avoid the wight of her stare fixed on you, you let your eyes scan over the ‘last-minute-purchase’ options on the counter, adding a packet of strawberry bubblegum to the collection and she scanned it through, reading your total to you and you jammed the card into the reader, wincing at the price that was displayed on the small screen. Your fingers punched into the buttons as you bit your tongue, taking the card and the bag as soon as you could and you darted from the shop, barely pausing to take your receipt from her as you fled.

Placing the stuffed paper bag on the shotgun seat, you rounded the car, letting out a deep sigh as you strapped into the seat and stuck your keys into the ignition. Digging into the bag beside you, you fished out the bubblegum, taking a stick from the packet and unwrapping it, popping it into your mouth and letting the chewing motion and sweet flavour soothe you as you started up the car and began the well-ingrained journey to the loft, anxiety riddling your body.

The radio played quietly in the background as you made your way along, the only sounds filling the car being that of the quiet hum of the latest chart-toppers, and the occasional pop of the bubblegum in your mouth. You weren’t really too sure why you were still keeping this secret from everyone, you had the perfect chance at lunch to tell the girls about what had happened, to get help and confide in someone.

Stiles.

Deep down, it was about protecting Stiles. The ripples on the surface of the water had only just smoothed back down, and you weren’t willing to throw the next stone in a situation that you were absolutely certain you could handle yourself. How dangerous could someone who was 147 pounds and unconscious be?

That was the only thought that was strong enough to force you up and out of the car, your feet carrying you forwards as you unlocked the main door, clicking it shut behind you as you made your way toward the stairs, choosing to walk all the way up to the top instead of taking the rickety elevator. You could use the time to calm yourself down, work out what you were going to do if the stranger you were harbouring was now awake.

Your hands were shaking so much that the keys were jingling as you walked, and you clenched them in a fist, taking a deep breath as you reached the final level and pausing before the silver metal door. With a deep sigh, you unlocked it carefully, sliding it out of the way and looking inside carefully. Natural light was flooding in through the huge bay windows at the other end, the concrete room lit up with warm light that almost made the monochrome grey space look welcoming, and your eyes zeroed in on the space that had once occupied that man you had rescued.

Nothing seemed out of place, the room wasn’t trashed and rummaged through, and everything was still and calm as you took a first cautious step inside. By the second step, you were sliding the door shut behind you, your brows furrowing. By the third step, a cold hand was sealed tightly around your throat, pinning you up to the wall as the tips of your toes brushed the ground.

The bag in your arms fell away, the items within it scattering across the floor as you squeaked, coming up to grab at the wrist holding you so tightly to the wall as you struggled to drag in any breath at all, your gaze meeting the furious one of the face you knew so well on the person you didn’t know at all. Those familiar honey-brown eyes were scanning over you interrogatively, and the long fingers wrapped around your throat flexed, tightening for a second before you were released, and you fell to your knees, eyes watering as you took in burning breaths, rubbing soothingly at the skin on your throat as the man merely stood and watched you for a second, before spinning on his heel and walking away.

You watched him go, shaking your head as he stormed away, and once your breathing had finally calmed and your heart had stopped racing so had on your chest that you thought it may burst out, you began to slowly gather up the items you had dropped, stuffing them all haphazardly back into the now torn paper bag and standing it up. Sitting on your knees, you took a moment to gather yourself, your eyes locking with the narrowed brown ones watching you, goosebumps rising over your body and you tried to seem strong, not to let him know quite how terrified you really were, as you took the back, standing on unsteady legs and holding your head high as you stared him down.

Making your way over to him, you placed the bag down in front of him, raising your brows as you moved slowly, the warning growl in his throat being acknowledged as you held up your hands, palms out to him to show you meant no hard, despite the fact that he'd attacked you only moments prior. Instead, you slowly tipped the bag upside down, allowing all the contents to spill out across Derek’s plain black coffee table, the man’s eyes scanning over it all, his face twisted in confusion as he looked at each item.

You stood with him in silence for a moment, letting him look at all the items, before he was stepping away from you, a snarl on his lips as he moved as far back as he could while still being able to watch your movements, track what you were doing. With a heavy sigh, you backed away yourself, never taking your eyes off of him out of fear of what he might do once you did, and for each step backwards you took, he moved forward one, and you slowly guided him toward the kitchen.

He lingered in the doorway as you moved around, never taking your eyes off of him for more than a split second as you searched through his drawers and cupboards, a small sound of victory leaving you once you found something you could work with, and you slipped two packets of the instant-noodles from the collection, dropping them on the counter as you continued your hunt on your meal-making task.

He flinched each time a pot or pan clashed, his eyes once again narrowing menacingly, and you had to suppress a chuckle because it was no longer focused on you, but instead on the source of the loud sounds, as he glared at a frying pan that had shifted and fallen loudly on another one. Selecting a pan big enough for the job, you quickly filled it with water from the tap, deciding that using the hob was definitely the safest bet, as you worked with this. Tearing open each packet, you held it up to show him as you watched on curiously, and you dropped the solid blocks of noodles into the water, waiting for it to begin to bubble over the flame.

There was nothing in the fridge that you could use, he’d gotten rid of everything perishable before going away, and you made a mental note to buy food, your heart once again sinking at the savings-draining task you had taken on. Maybe if you told Lydia, she’d give you her card and allow you to pay using her platinum, but you highly doubted you’d get away with telling her now without having to endure a long sit down talk and a lot of disappointed looks, which you weren’t ready to deal with. Lydia Martin could be scary when she wanted to be.

The silence hung heavily in the room between the two of you, and you tried to school your face into a stoic expression, despite the stormy scowl that was being directed at you, his body shuffling as you looked at him, his shoulders rolling from the discomfort of his injuries and he looked like he was going to try and dash at any moment. Taking two dishes from the lower cupboard beside your legs, you placed them out on the table gently, a fork beside each one and you stirred the noodles, the pasta soft and flimsy as it circled around, the savoury smell filling the air and you quickly dished up the food after switching off the hob, placing a fork in one bowl and pushing it across the countertop toward him.

He stepped forward as you took a seat on one of the stools, and you watched as he lifted up the instrument, pushing the pasta around the dish, a growl leaving him as he dropped the fork back into the bowl with a clatter, and you raised your eyebrows as you ate your own food, fixing him with a judgemental look and shaking your head. He used a single, skinny finger to push the bowl toward you roughly, some of the soup sloshing over the side and you let out a sigh, continuing to eat your food as he glared at you.

You had never felt quite so intimidated while in the presence of a bowl of noodles, and had you been anywhere else, in any other situation, you might have found this situation funny, perhaps even laughed at it, but right now, you worried you may actually choke on the noodles from stress. When you finally finished, and he was still twitching from foot to foot in front of you, his nervous shuffling giving you anxiety, too.

“What? You don’t eat, then?” He merely snarled at you, despite the rumbling in his stomach as the delicious smell drifted through the air and you raised a brow at him, shrugging and taking the bowl, his eyes watching as you snatched the food from in front of him. You made sure to make a show of tipping it into the garbage disposal, his eyes watching as the food slipped away into the drain and his jaw tightened, twitching as he ground his teeth together, his body jerking in shock as you slammed your hand down on the button on the wall and the loud grating filled the room, before you finished it, a smug look on your face as you cleared the dishes into the sink to clean later.

He stalked from the room as you did, his nostrils flaring at your actions and you wanted to stomp your foot on the ground and groan, but instead, you merely clenched your fists by your sides, following after him as he whipped his head around to see you following him, choosing to make his way over to the couch and poke through the items spilt out on the coffee table.

He picked up the bag of cotton wool balls, looking at them curiously before dropping them and you cleared your throat, his hard gaze directed back to you as you crossed your arms over your chest self-consciously. “Those wounds on your back are bad, you should let me take a look at you.”

He blinked at you, twice, eyes wide and his face didn’t move, giving you no indication that he was actually understanding a thing you were saying and you took cautious and slow steps toward him, his body tensing up as you did and you plucked the item from his hands, meeting little resistance as you held it up.

“These are for cleaning the wounds. On your shoulders?”

You placed the item down, motioning to your own shoulders as you tried to make him understand, and he twitched at the motion, his features falling from their hard glare a little his eyes softening and he swallowed thickly, his gaze dropping from yours for just a moment as he adjusted his arms. A wince was clear on his face as he moved his arms back, his lips parting and a quiet groan left him.

Your own shoulders slumped as you watched him, and you picked up another couple of items, deciding to offer him a small smile as you held it up, jiggling the packages before him, and the crinkling caught his attention. “These are for wrapping and padding the cuts, because those are really bad, and they’ll get infected.”

He pursed his lips, but for once they weren’t fixed in a heavy scowl and you felt as though perhaps you were making some kind of progress with him. Placing them down, you moved through the rest of the items, lifting each one slowly and telling him what it would be used for, only receiving the same blank looks and lonely silence as he stood before you, his gaze flicking over both you and the room multiple times. Despite the lack of verbal confirmation, you were choosing to believe that he understood you, because his posture had loosened, his body slumping forward a little and he seemed a little less like he was preparing to fight for his life at every turn of events.

It wasn’t until you’d finished talking to him and moved toward him that his defensive stance returned to him. He jerked aggressively away from you as you took a step toward him, and you lifted your hands, reaching out to him carefully as you motioned towards his back. “Let me take a look at your injuries!”

He stepped back again, his legs hitting the edge of the couch and he went rigid as you closed in on him, a low growl sounding from his throat, the noise rumbling from his chest in a warning and his eyes were practically burning with rage, his anger having built in seconds and your jaw dropped.

“We just talked about your injuries! I told you what I need to do!”

You tried one final time, reaching for him carefully and he took your wrist in his hand squeezing so tightly that your knees buckled as you released a cry, and he growled once again, this time predatory, as if to tell you to back off or it would get worse. Then, he was using his grip on you to push you back as you stumbled over your own feet, just about stopping yourself from tripping up and falling on your ass.

“Fine!” You snapped, your arms flying out to your sides as you shouted at him, and his eyebrows raised at your increase in volume, his eyes wide as he watched you, your own jaw clenching and you pointed at him angrily. “Go ahead, die of fuckin’ osteomyelitis for all I care!”

Your cheeks were flushed, and you fixed him with the harshest glare you could, before letting out a deep sound of anger, a groan that rippled through your body as you threw your head back, eyes squeezed shut as you tried to calm yourself down. Taking a series of deep breaths, you calmed your racing heart and the heat that was curling up your cheeks died down.

You mumbled curses under your breath, turning back to him to find him staring at you intently still, and you ran a hand through your head, grimacing as the tension in the air hung thickly. “Look, I’m going to go and get some warm water, we really need to sort out those gashes or you’re going to get really sick.”

You nodded at him, hoping that he understood before you were rubbing your hands together and turning on your heel, making your way into the kitchen. Fishing out a fresh bowl, you turned on the tap, running the water over the inside of your wrist to test the temperature, and when it became too hot for the skin there, you knew it was the perfect temperature. Gathering enough in the bowl, you placed it on the side, searching through the drawers for some clean rags.

When you first heard the metal of the door sliding, your brows furrowed, and it took a second before the realisation of what that particular grinding of metal meant, your eyes widening and you squeaked, dropping the material on your hands as you dashed from the kitchen, your eyes scanning over the empty loft area and your heart raced, bile rising in your throat as you guts twisted. “Shit!”

Your eyes focused on the open loft door, and you ran towards it, your feet moving quickly down the stairs as your tried not to fall, your blood pounding in your ears and you let out a panicked and frustrated yell as you noticed the main door now hanging open too, his taller stature and head-start ensuring you wouldn’t catch up to him even with his injuries, the area surrounding the loft still and empty, as though he had just disappeared.

Your legs buckled under you as the consequences began to run through your mind. Worry, fear and anger flooded your system as you kicked at a rock on the ground, tears lacing your eyes from the overwhelming floods of emotion bubbling over inside of you as you tried to work out what the fuck you were going to do now.

The sun was almost setting, dark clouds moving in over the sky and threatening to break at any time as the sun sank lower and lower on the horizon.

“I’m so fucking screwed.”

262 notes · View notes

sheisjazz · 3 years

Text

no se usar tumblr jajaja'nt me mwto

1 note · View note

mika080 · 5 years

Text

A Modern Day Romeo and Juliet

by mwto

Summary: Some of the Naruto characters in a modern day Romeo and Juliet setting. Rated T to be safe. Characters deaths.

Rated: T - English - Romance/Tragedy - Chapters: 1 - Words: 1,339

(Additional note: major character deaths.)

Link.

#GaaSaku #fic recs #ff.net #mwto

0 notes

sorewasoretoshite · 7 years

Text

That feeling when you want to do everything but feeling like your setting yourself up for some insane stress,

Have to sort out internship applications and contact potential references, start looking into and read around my dissertation topics (first: DECIDE ON A TOPIC), manage two take-home exams in March and their related readings, and start my online courses in macroeconomics (thinking of dropping them tbh but ugh I really want to have my grades for economics). AND do my reading up in preparation for the Model WTO thing in Swizterland that I GOT ACCEPTED INTO OMG HOWWWWWW????

I really really want to enrol in one of the free online Leiden University courses but IDK if I’ll be able to keep up. Luckily I have the summer to do them at least...

#feeling the onslaught of stress setting in #seriously excited about the MWTO thing tho because it is supercompetitive and such a great extracurricular but ugh...#serious imposter syndrome going on #thinking of treating myself to a day at yasuragi for my 25th bday just to have some relaxation time #personal

2 notes · View notes

vanbaxm1992 · 7 years

Video

youtube

my channel 박수홍 박수애 나이차이 커플 방송사고 결혼 발표 재혼 황석정 | KRVBA TV link https://youtu.be/6w_g5S-MwTo

#박수홍 박수애 나이차이 커플 방송사고 결혼 발표 재혼 황석정 | KRVBA TV

0 notes

clovertail-blog · 12 years

Note

☆

#mwto #tw: ask

1 note · View note

writingsbychlo · 4 years

Text

more ways than one (epilogue)

word count; 1561

summary; just a little glimpse into the near future that teh two of you have together.

notes; honestly, how wild is it that this is teh first series ever that didn’t contina any smut? anyways, enjoy this hint at smut.

warnings; none.

“You know, I think you might be almost as obsessed with these ones as you were with my actual wings, you know.” His tone was teasing, and you poked him in the shoulder blade in response, before dragging your fingers over the large and intricately tattooed wings covering his back and dipping down under the waistband of his jeans. He let out a small huff as your fingers dipped down under the edge of his boxers, to where you knew the feathery design finished, before pinching his ass, and he scowled at you over his shoulder as he jumped. “Stop distracting me.”

“Can’t help it, you have a nice ass.”

“I could say the same about you.” He put down the spoon he was cooking with, turning in your arms from where they were looped around his waist, the apron that was covering his front making you giggle, the cheesy ‘kiss the cook’ slogan across the front being what did it, a gag gift you’d given him when you’d been helping him buy things for his new home. His hands slipped down from your waist, a satisfied hum leaving him, a smirk on his lip as he squeezed your ass, pulling one hand back and giving the cheek a light slap before tucking his hands into your back pockets.

You pushed up on your tiptoes, your lips meeting his, and he groaned softly as he puckered his own lips to push back against you with equal enthusiasm, your lips moulding together in a sweet and tender connection. They dragged over one another in slow movements, his mouth parting just enough to nibble on your bottom lip as you pulled back, teeth grazing the skin lightly as you moved, and your breath felt knocked from your lungs as he did.

He grinned down at you when your eyes finally opened, pressing his wet lips to your forehead in a sweet kiss before pulled back, unwrapping your arms from around him and lifting you up onto one of the stools at the kitchen counter, fixing you with a stern look. “If you actually want dinner, sit here and look pretty. There’s plenty of time for you to pinch my ass and for me to admire yours, later.”

He winked at the way your cheeks flared, but you offered him a toothy grin, turning to once again show you the large angel wings tattooed across the expanse of the pale and mole-speckled skin on his back. “You know, a certain big event is coming up.”

“I am very aware. All Hallow’s Eve.”

“It’s called Halloween down here on earth with the humans, but yes.” He snorted dryly at your comment, flicking the flame off and leaving the meat and sauce mixture to cool a little, moving on to checking the spaghetti on the other spot on the hob top. “We should wear matching couple costumes!”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.” He was responding to you, but he was distracted, you could tell from the way his brow was furrowed as he moved across the room to grab bowls, before draining the pasta and beginning to dish up the food for you both.

“How do you feel about angels?” He turned to look at you, eyebrows raised and the edges of his lips flicked up at the edges, before he was shaking his head fondly and trying to contain the noodles as they flew all over the place in his bid to get them into the dishes. “I could go as a fallen angel, black wings and red lips.”

“You’re so funny. A true comedian.” You giggled at his words, and he took his apron off, folding it neatly before placing it in the drawer in which it belonged. You took a deep inhale of breath, and he turned, pointing a fork at you as he placed the other within the bowl, and you snapped your mouth shut. “If you say saints and sinners, I will eat your bowl of pasta too, and I will kick you out.”

Your jaw snapped shut, a pout on your lips as you huffed unhappily, and he grinned at his winning of this discussion, before placing a bowl of food down before you, steam rising up from the food and you let out a low groan of joy as you smelt the delicious meal he had made. “Your cooking has gotten so much better.” He chuckled, humming in response as a slight heat rose to his cheeks, remembering the first time he had cooked a meal for you, and almost set fire to the homemade pizza he had crafted. His fingers took your chin, pulling your lips up to his and he placed a sweet peck to your lips, licking over your lower one teasingly before he was taking his seat on the opposite side of the table to you.

“How about a doctor and nurse?” He offered, slurping up a noodle and splattering sauce across his face, licking it from his lips as he did, his eyes practically going crossed as he impossibly tried to look down at his own face to see if he’d gotten it all, and you rolled your eyes, twirling your fork on your noddles elegantly, and lifting the bundle up to your mouth.

“Too basic.”

You took the noodles into your mouth, chewing happily as he continued to scarf down his own food. Silence took over for a few minutes, before he was ‘ooh-ing’ and ‘ah-ing’, taking your attention as you looked back to him with raised brows. “Let’s go as a cop and a prisoner. You’d look hot in my handcuffs.”

“Booooring!” You chewed on your floor, your eyes flicking back up as the smirk dropped from his face. “Remember the handcuffs thing. I like that.” His smirk was back, his lips curling up.

“Zombie bride and groom?”

“Yawn.”

“Superman and supergirl?”

“Cliché and technically incorrect. I’d be Lois Lane.”

“Tinkerbell and Peter Pan.”

“Dress is too short, I’m not out here to let the whole party see my ass.”

“You’re impossible.” He huffed, pushing his finished bowl away from himself, and you beamed at him.

“If I’m so impossible, why did you come back, huh?” You challenged him carefully, taking the final bites of your own food from your dish and he stood up, rounding the raised table and placing his bowl in the sink, taking yours too and doing the same, before he was turning back to you. You licked the sauce from your lips, and he held your face in both of his large hands, running the pads of his thumbs over your cheeks as he stared down at you, nothing but adoration written on his face.

“Because in all my thousand years of living, this last half a year with you has been the happiest of them all.” He leaned in, bumping the tip of his nose with yours before pulling back, far enough to brush his lips with yours, and you whined out, leaning up into him to connect your mouths, and his chuckle was lost as your lips pressed to his. His tongue traced over your lip the second his lips parted, and you did the same, his tongue dipping into your mouth to tangle with your own.

You sighed out happily, his hands sinking down to your hips, and you parted your legs, allowing him to step between them, his hands massaging at your skin encouraging you to wrap them around his waist tightly. Your own came up to wrap around his neck, smoothing up over his bare stomach and chest, nails scraping his skin lightly enough to make him shiver. He moaned under his breath, tilting his head to gain deeper access to your mouth as the kiss grew hotter and sloppier. Your hands threaded into his hair, scratching at the base of his neck as you tugged on the locks and he slipped his hands down to palm at your ass.

He lifted you up effortlessly, his hand securing under your butt as he pulled you away from your seat, your limbs gripping him infinitely tighter as you squeaked in surprise, and he pulled back to grin, his eyes darker than they had been. He pressed a kiss to the spot under your jaw, just near your ear, and you let out a shaky sigh as your head tipped back to grant him more access. “How about we go and investigate that handcuff thing? We can work on costumes later, angel.”

You let out a breathless laugh, mixed with a needy moan, at the pet name he awarded you as you nodded needily, feeling his feet carrying him through the one-floor apartment to the bedroom, and you let everything else slip away as pure bliss and love took over, the feeling of his lips on your neck making everything else seem insignificant.

It may have caused trouble, ad it may have been a hard journey, what had for a moment seemed like a heartbreaking tragedy that would haunt you, had turned out to be the best thing that had ever happened to you, and you knew you were the best thing to ever happen to him.

The two of you were perfect for each other, in more ways than you could possibly count.

167 notes · View notes

writingsbychlo · 4 years

Text

more ways than one (06)

word count; 5207

summary; everyone finds out your secret, and shit kinda hits the fan.

notes; it’s pretty intense, but I promise that you’ll love it.

warnings; mentions of a panic attack, injury description, blood and gore.

It was a boring day when everything fell apart, and despite your shock and worry, you had to know it was coming soon.

A new problem always arose in your life, something always came up to shatter the peace. Just as the ripples on the surface of the pond began to smooth out, something else threw a pebble at the water, and during this quaint little time of peace, a new threat had been winding up with their aim set perfectly.

You were in the supermarket, filling a basket with the various snacks you’d come to know that V liked over the past few weeks, when your phone buzzed in your pocket. You ignored the first one, and the second one, but soon the text alerts were flipping to that of an incoming call, and it was with a deep sigh that you paused in your perusing of different cereal bars and moved your attention to your phone, fishing it from your pocket.

Lydia’s name flashed across the screen, and you rolled your eyes fondly, dragging your thumb over the green button and lifting it to your ear. “Hey, Lyds! You know, now actually isn’t such a great time f-”

“Yeah, you’ve been saying that all summer, you know.” You gaped at her snippy comment, pouting to yourself as guilt filled you, and yet you didn’t even have a chance to respond before she was barrelling on. “Would that have anything to do with the Stiles lookalike I’m currently staring at?”

Your stomach flipped, feeling as though it had suddenly filled with cement, and your palms went clammy, your mouth dry as you stuttered out your response; “What?”

“Yeah, there’s an impersonator for your best friend here at the loft, insisting to call you, and so here we are. Care to explain?” Her tone was short and aggressive, and you could tell she was mad at you, though you already knew she would be, it was inevitable, and yet you had thought you’d have more time to prepare yourself for this moment.

You hadn't been planning to keep it a secret forever, you had wanted to tell them, and yet you had wanted to do it on your own terms, when the secret man you were harbouring in your friend’s home had been ready, and now you were panicking. You could barely catch your breath, your chest feeling like it was pushing in on itself, and you were becoming unsettling familiar with panic attacks.

“(Y/N?) You there?” Her tone was softer, and she could hear you panting, struggling for breath once again, but you were already fishing for your car keys in your bag, hanging up the phone and shoving it lazily back into your purse. Your cart had been abandoned in the aisle, your hands shaking as you tried to unlock the car, and you hopped up into the seat, strapping yourself in and taking a deep breath.

Your eyes closed as you tried to calm yourself, jumping once again when your phone buzzed, Stiles’ face flashing up on your screen when you pulled it out to look at it. You considered just ignoring it, you considered letting it go to voicemail, but it kept on going, clearly, he wasn’t giving up and so you reached out for the device and took it.

“Stiles.” Your voice was croaky, as you tried to hold back tears, but the moment your eyes closed you felt one drip along your cheek. He cooed at you, mumbling into the phone and you heard him shuffle away from everyone else, the shouting in the room fading away.

“Oh, honey, I’m not mad.” Transferring the phone to the car speakers, you started up the vehicle, nervously pulling out of your parking space and heading for the building you were suddenly dreading approaching, having been so excited for this trip only ten minutes prior. “You hung up on Lydia, and you’ve been acting weird all summer. We were just worried, but now you’re okay. You’re okay, right?”

“I’m okay, Stiles. Don’t hurt him, alright? I’ll be there soon.” Your words were stuttered out, and he sighed into the phone, not out of anger or frustration, but simply from stress.

“I won’t, (Y/N), but I’d be quick. It’s not me you have to worry about.” He paused, muffled talk on the end of the phone as he covered the speaker, and you slammed your hand into the steering wheel, pressing your foot down even harder on the pedal as you picked up the speed. “Look, I wasn’t the one who found him. You need to get here soon.”

The line went dead, and you tried to steady your racing heart, and stave off the oncoming panic attack. The drive felt like it had dragged on for hours, your eyes constantly flicking down to the clock, and only seven minutes had passed since you had left the store. You didn’t even bother locking the car, swiping the keys and your bag from the seat and racing your way upstairs, taking the stairs two at a time.

Your muscles ached and burned, screaming out in protest as you ran three entire floors uphill in what felt like it had only been thirty seconds flat. You were gasping for breath upon reaching the loft, the shouting inside having been echoing clearly through the building from the open door to the main living area, hitting your ears from the very second you’d stepped inside. Anger flooded through you as you took in the sight inside, and you took a deep breath to contain yourself.

Your friends were all gathered around, varying expressions of concern to anger to confusion across their faces, and Stiles was the first to notice you. His arms were crossed around his middle, hunched over and chewing on the nail of his thumb when his eyes met yours, and he seemed to light up a little bit, Scott clapping a hand on his shoulder as he took you in, and your flannel-wearing friend skidded across the floor to you.

You glanced over his shoulder, brows furrowing at the group huddled around where you assumed your not-so-hidden friend to be, growling and yelling filling your ears, and while Stiles tried to grab you, you forced your way through.

Sitting on the floor, back to the wall was a very scared looking V, his eyes wide and frantic, claiming only a little when he saw you. His lip was busted, a red mark that was bleeding from a slight graze was hidden under his hairline, and you whipped around form him to face down your friends. Derek stared at you, teeth bared, wolf-side on full display as claws were bared when he pointed at you and you glared right back at him, holding your ground.

Cora was by his side, and you shot her a quick glare, your jaw tense and shoulders squared as you stepped towards the two, your other friends all still talking, questions pouring from them, threats and wondering and your head was practically pounding from the noise and rowdy chaos already, and so you could only imagine the way the man cowering on the floor must feel.

“Back the fuck up.” You were met with a growl from both Cora and Derek, and you raised your brows challengingly. “Are you going to maul me like a rabid fucking dog? If not, I said back off.”

Derek sighed, his claws pulling back, and he retreated back into himself, returning to his normal form, all except for his eyes which continued to glow at you, and Cora crossed her arms, sneering at you as she turned her back to you both, stalking across the room and upstairs as she mumbled insults and cruel words at you. Silence settled over the room, and you ignored them all, turning away and dropping to your knees, letting out a heavy sigh as you took in the worried face of the man before you.

“Are you okay?” He shot you a look, to ask if you were really serious about that question, but you shuffled forward on your knees toward him, and he leaned up to face you better. Your hands cupped his cheeks, smoothing his hair back to look at the injury on his head, and you glared over your shoulder at the male wolf you assumed to have inflicted such an injury, and he at least had the dignity to look a little sheepish.

His hands came up, covering yours gently and bringing them down from his face, your attention snapping back to him as he gave you a small smile, whispering his response as he let your connected hands fall to his lap. “I’m okay.”

“C’mon, let’s get you up.” You rocked back onto your feet, pulling him up to stand with you, and he was once again towering over you. He was practically pressed to your back once you turned back to your friends, and they all practically took a collective intake of breath as they prepared to fire off their questions at you once again. Holding your hand up, you looked at them all, feeling a pair of slightly cooler to the touch fingers slip in between yours, and you looked down at your hand, not the only one to do so, but you squeezed back reassuringly. “One question at a time, or we’re leaving.”

As if to make a point, Scott closed the loft door, and you rolled your eyes in exasperation, but returned your attention to the group. Derek was the first to speak up, as you’d have expected, and you braced yourself for anything he may say as he stepped forward.

“How long has he been here?”

You grinned, letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, having expected more to have been yelled or cursed at, and you shrugged, playing with his fingers between your own absentmindedly. “Since the beginning of the summer, not long after you left.”

“And why exactly is he here?” Allison piped up, and you moved to looking at her, feeling the man beside you shuffle a little closer, switching between his feet nervously.

“I had to keep him somewhere, he was hurt when I found him.”

The questions kept going, breaking up your explanation as they all took turns firing away in wonder until the story was almost entirely out int he open, but the more you got off of your chest was the more you panicked, because Stiles had yet to say anything, his eyes fixed on the floors as he took it all in.

You could understand why; it was a lot.

Everybody seemed to be reeling from your words. Knowing that you’d found this lookalike, having fought with him so much at first as you all but nursed him back to health, and he soothed your panic attacks. You’d spent almost your entire summer locked away here in the loft, teaching him how to cook and care for himself, how to use technology and teach him about everything he needed to know.

Stiles was the final question, his eyes meeting yours as he finally looked up at you, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Why does he look like me?”

Your jaw snapped shut, but your eyes stayed locked with his, and you worried about the words in your head while trying to think about what to say.

“That one is a little harder to explain.”

-----------------

The atmosphere around you all seemed to have cooled down, and you were sitting on the couch, the others sprawled out around you as you sat with your legs slung across your best friend’s lap, his hands smoothing up and down your calf, as he processed the story you had just told him. V was on the floor at the other side of the coffee table, watching on carefully and in silence as other’s milled about the loft. Kira and Scott were mumbling to one another about it all from the armchair, Malia was eating leftovers from the fridge and Lydia was bobbing a tea bag in her mug, blowing the steam off delicately as she clutched it in her hands.

The atmosphere was tense, you could tell there was still a simmering rage aimed at you for not telling them about what had happened, and yet you couldn’t find it within yourself to care because it was finally all out in the open, and he gave you a small smile as he finally looked up at you.

“Guardian angel, huh?”

You grinned, nodding your head as Stiles sent you a dopey smile, and you reached a hand out to ruffle his hair. “Can you believe it?”

“Well, y’know, werewolves exist, I was possessed by a demon, Jackson turns into a cannibalistic iguana cosplayer, so why not?” He joked, and you shook your head, lolling back into the couch and closing your eyes for a split second, the tension leaving your body as you relaxed. Despite the anger that still resided towards your deceit, you no longer felt like you had to deal with the growing stress of keeping a secret from the people you cared about the most. “I do have a question, though.”

“Hmm?”

“What exactly is going on between the two of you?” He pointed his finger between you and the man who looked exactly like him, who was currently occupied by a casual interrogation disguised as a chat with Allison, and you turned to look at Stiles. He only fixed you with a knowing look, his eyebrows raised and lips pursed, sealing away the cheeky smirk on his face. “It’s clearly something. But, it doesn’t change anything between the two of us, right?”

“God, no, never. I’ve seen you throw up all over yourself after eating a whole bag of curly fries and drinking seven of your dad’s beers before dancing on a table.”

“Hey, now, that was a good day.” He tucked you close to him, pulling you under is arm until your face was pressed into his side, and you scowled, your face screwing up as you tried to push away from him.

“You smell! Get off me, when did you last wash your shirt? Or your pits for that matter?”

He grinned, laughing it off, before beginning to talk your ear off about something you weren’t paying attention to, instead choosing to look to back to the other man, his eyes flicking to yours as Allison continued to barricade him with questions and ideas, your lips forming a smile, one eye dropping in a lazy wink, and he returned the sentiment by letting his lips twist up at the sides to smile back.

For a good two or three hours, you felt the worries of the world slip away. The benefactor, the supernatural, everything slipped form your mind. The rest of the group had a lot of questions for V, and so as some kind of peace offering, Derek ordered in a fair amount of pizza for the group, and you found yourself leaning against his side, your legs crossed, his spread out before him and a box of pizza sitting between them, half-eaten as you shared the large wheel.

It almost felt like this could become your new normal, like everything could go back to the way it once was, before Scott got bitten and before your life was flipped upside down, and for the first time in a long time, you weren’t cursing that fateful night that had made your world crazy.

That little bit of joyful freedom came crashing down around your feet once again, as though fate really had it out for you on this particular day, because with everyone else in the group gathered around, there was no reason that the wolves of the group suddenly perked up, silence falling over everyone as heads lifted, looking into the air and sniffling out.

Even Cora had made an appearance, the second after she came downstairs to glare at you and swipe up a box of pizza, before disappearing into her room again. Now, she was standing at the top of the spiral staircase, looking down with her eyes squinted as she stared at a certain spot on the wall, and the tension was palpable and thick.

Only seconds later, the easy mood was completely and utterly shattered, the door being pulled backwards with so much force that it bounced off of its sliders and almost tore from the wall. A team stood in the doorway, aggressive stances and armed with weapons, your jaw dropped. The noise around you felt like a sudden and muffled background filler, everything seeming to move too fast while also going far too slowly, and it wasn’t until you felt hands on your upper arms, forcefully pulling you to your feet with a bruising grip as you were tugged away towards the wall.

Allison had kitchen knives in her hands, claws and fangs were flying around as a solid wall of supernatural and hunter force formed before you, and the acrylics of Lydia’s nails were digging into your skin as she dragged you backwards. Stiles was already pressed to the wall, eyes wide as he looked around and tried to find a solution, and V was staring right at you, his arms held out as he tried to lure you into action, break in through your shock or do something, and you stumbled along, falling into his arms.

They wrapped tightly around you, a hand weaving into your hair as he held you tight, holding your face into his shoulder as the other wrapped around your waist. He kept you tightly to him, shushing your whimpers each time you heard a painful grunt or shout of agony. He mumbled in your ear, constantly reassuring you of what was happening, until you felt like you’d choked back enough panic to look up at the scene yourself.

It was a battlefield, chipped wood from broken furniture and splattered blood across the walls and floor, Isaac was fighting, pinning someone to the floor as another had a coil wire wrapped around his neck, red hot and glowing as it sliced into his skin and he did the best he could to fight them both.

Allison and Kira were back to back but overwhelmed, both Scott and Derek trying to deal with the growing threat of a crown around them before them as Malia moved to tackle the man trying to decapitate your scarf-wearing friend, a small sigh of relief leaving you. You were outnumbered but not outgunned, you knew your friends could handle it but that didn’t mean without sacrifice or injury, and you feared for the way they were coping.

You knew you had to do something to help, you just didn’t know what.

Claws were being thrown, guns fired off, and a startled scream tore from your lips as a drinking glass shattered when a bullet flew right through it, and you’d had enough of cowering in the corner. Catching sight of a clawed-up metal pipe hanging from the wall, and you pushed the arms that were wrapped around you down, ignoring the shouts of Lydia and V, Stiles grasping your arm and following after you, skimming along the walls as you made your way toward it.

Stopping down with force, the metal snapped away from the rest with a groan, clattering across the floor, and you scooped it up, thankful that the metal was cold as you held it securely in your hands. Wrapping your fingers around it, you stepped forwards, closing in on the man who currently had what was almost a spear in his hands as he jabbed at Scott’s chest, your friend doing the best he could to avoid it.

You weren’t that strong, you didn’t have a lot of muscle to work with or any experience in fighting but with everything you could muster within yourself you swung forward, the impact reverberating along the pipe and shaking all the way to your hands as the man collapsed in a heap, unconscious on the floor as you shook. He had a gash across his skull, your hands shaking as your eyes went wide and Scott looked at you, watching as unshed tears formed and he shook his head, Stiles placing a hand on your back to comfort you.

Leaning down, your tanned friend felt for a pulse, and you took a raspy and gasping breath. “I didn’t want to kill him! I was just trying to help, oh m-”

“Shh, no, he’s alive! You just have a really good hit!” Scott soothed, the fight coming to a close as the numbers began to even out, and you let out a deep sigh of relief, clutching as your chest as the weight that lifted off of your shoulders made you think you may actually float away into the sky. You placed a hand onto the alpha’s shoulder, taking deep and steadying breaths, and Stiles clapped a hand on your shoulder.

“We should have a Beacon Hills baseball team, you can be our star batter!”

Scott laughed at Stiles’ comment, glancing over your shoulder, before the joyful expression on his face dropped and he let out a dull shout as he ducked you out of the way, a final threat as he whipped your body around, stumbling over his feet and holding you close as the two of you fell out of harm’s way and onto the floor.

Another boy who had come with the attacking group had lunged at you both, and you screamed as Stiles was left defenceless, being closed in on by the man with the knife. In a blur of movement, Stiles was pulled out of the way, tackled to the ground as the man on the offensive made to slash at him, and Malia was quick to take the man by the back of the head, walking him in fast motions and slamming his head into the brick wall, his body crumpling in unconsciousness to the floor.

The fight didn’t last much longer, and you crawled your way toward Stiles, his now human guardian angel laying beside him and clutching at his arm, blood smeared across his fingers as he grunted, and Stiles was staring at him with something between shock and awe.

“Dude, you just saved my life.”

V let out a deep chuckle, slightly strained and suffering through his pain as he sat up, and you dropped down to your knees, eyes meeting Stiles’ and he sent you a reassuring nod before you were peeling the other boy’s fingers away from his arm, getting a look at the cut on his upper arm.

His shirt was torn, sliced right through to his skin and while it wasn’t a deep cut, tears still sprung back to your eyes, something between pure joy that they were both alive, and fear for his well-being as he looked down at the injury he had gained. You pushed the jacket from his arms, and he lifted the sleeve of his shirt out of the way, and Lydia dropped down beside you with the first aid kit form the kitchen.

“No! No, it’s empty! Get the stuff from the second drawer on the kitchen island!” Stiles was moving before she was, and she followed after him, the pair of them bringing enough supplies through for everyone, and your hands were shaking as you tried to open a packet of gauze. Warm hands closed over yours, slight bloodstains smearing across your skin from his.

“It’s just a scratch.” He whispered, and you nodded, licking over your lips and taking a deep breath, unwrapping the bandaging and laying it across your lap as you picked up a disinfectant wipe or clean the nick on his skin with.

“Just a scratch? You saved my life!” Stiles was practically exploding with glee and excitement and thankfulness, and you let out a weak chuckle, shaking your head fondly at your best friend, and he placed a friendly kiss to the top of your head before shoving your shoulder in retaliation for you laughing at him.

“Well, what are guardian angels for?” You froze at the words, your jaw gaping as you looked up at the boy you were patching up, and your best friend had much the same reaction, before he was laughing loudly and clapping him on the uninjured shoulder. Seconds later, Stiles was wandering away to help deal with the unconscious and slightly maimed team who had attacked them, Lydia following to start to patch them all up, and you kneeled beside him, admiration twinkling in your eyes as you looked at him.

“I can’t believe you just made that joke.” You mumbled, and he let a small laugh loose for just you to hear, your fingers wrapping up and sealing the bandage carefully, before you were helping him to his feet. He raised a hand, running his fingers over your cheek delicately, and you tipped your head into his touch. “You saved my friend’s life.”

He shrugged as though it was no big thing, before lowering his hand to sit on your waist, and you gripped the shirt over his waist on your hands, holding him close to you. “It’s what I should have been doing all along. I failed him so many other times, this doesn’t really make up for anything.” You tipped your head to the side, glancing over his shoulder and he turned to look, Stiles standing behind him, scratching at the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Tell that to him. He seems pretty made up to be alive.”

Stiles stuck his tongue out at you as his doppelgänger stared at him with disbelief, unsure of quite what to say, and he looked between you and Stiles as he searched for words. “Stiles, I am so sorry.”

“For what?”

“For failing you?” You slipped your hand into V’s, his fingers immediately flexing around your own for support and you ran the pad of your thumb over his knuckles. “I should have looked after you, and done a better job. I wasn’t good, you deserved a better guardian than I am, and I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you.”

“You.. what?” You chuckled, pressing your face into the back of his shoulder and Stiles was a painted picture of amusement, holding a hand out to the man that looked identical to him.

“I forgive you. You saved my life, and you look after my best friend. I forgive you.” Slipping his hand free from yours, his hand met Stiles’, and they shook hands firmly, a peace formed between the two of them, and the silence only lasted a second before V was jolting suddenly.

With a second jerky movement, he reached up and over his own shoulder clawing at his back as he fell to his knees, and you watched as the muscles in his back shifted, his knees cracking as the hit the floor. Pulling his shirt up over his head until it was tight around his biceps, he fell forwards, a pained scream leaving his lips as you stepped up beside him. Your hand had barely pressed to his heated skin before he was twisting awkwardly, a sickening crunch sounding out and he dropped down, elbows buckling as bone pushed out of the scars on his back, and you held back the urge to vomit as he squirmed in agonising pain, Stiles spinning on his heel, light-headed at the scene before him.

You choked back the sound you wanted to make, squeezing your eyes shut before taking a knee before him, holding his cheeks and lifting his face to look at you. His eyes were wet with tears, cheeks flushed and you offered him a shaky smile in reassurance.

“What’s happening to me?”

“I really can’t tell you. I don’t know what’s happening, but I got you, okay?” His eyes squeezed shut, muscle and skin crawling along the bone structures, and you felt your stomach physically twist and churn at the sight. He wheezed, whining out under his breath as you held him carefully. “I got you, okay? I’m here.”

“You’re here.”

“Yeah, honey.” He winced, and you watched the gruesome sight as the freshly woven skin pricked and parted, before a gasp was leaving you, pale stems bursting through before parting in white feathers, and you let out a breathy laugh. Your eyes were wide, jaw slack as you watched beautiful and large, pure white wings appear before your eyes. “Holy shit.”

“What is it?” You were awestruck, watching as they finally grew to completion, his skin covered in a thin layer of sweat, vice hoarse from all his screaming and groaning, and he collapsed down, pulling back onto his knees just enough to slump over onto you.

“I think you just got your wings back.”

“What?” The appendages fluttered in his shock, and you felt this arms snake around your waist in exhaustion, your own arms looping around him, and you ran the edges of your fingers over the soft feathers tentatively, a happy sigh leaving him as you ran your touch over the soft wings. “That feels nice.”

“Your wings feel nice. They’re so soft.”

He chuckled, before it faded out, and he pulled back enough to look at you. The others were filtering into the room, taking in the sight before them, but neither of you paid them any attention, caught up in a bubble together as you stared at one another.

They all discussed their opinions, Stiles offering the explanation that forgiveness was what he needed, and your heart was beating out of your chest as he flexed and extended the wings around himself, stretching them out and grunting happily, like a muscle being stretched after a long period of laying down, as though a cramp was being relieved, and he looked between them himself, lifting his fingers to brush over the edge of the feathers he could reach, fluttering them a little bit and chuckling happily under his breath.

“Can you tell me how many black feathers there are?”

You stood up, and he did the same, watching as you rounded his back to look, and he gave you a second, before turning on you and taking in your widely smiling face. “There isn’t any?”

“No black feathers?”

“All pure as snow!” You beamed, and he took your face in his hands, pulling you closer and pressing his lips to your forehead. The kiss lingered, long and sweet and your eyes closed as you leaned into it. Raising your head, you bumped the tip of your nose against his, and a throat being cleared loudly caught your attention, your cheeks heating up as you snapped away from one another.

Derek looked at you both, slightly beaten up but rapidly healing, and he offered an apologetic look, shrugging his shoulders and rubbing his hands together as everyone turned to look at him.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but it's no time to relax just yet. That was just the beginning, our threat isn’t over yet, and we need to be ready.”

155 notes · View notes

writingsbychlo · 4 years

Text

more ways than one (05)

word count; 5015

summary; the pressure of looking after everyone else all becomes too much, and you snap, but there’s someone there to look after you this time.

notes; make sure to check the warnings for any triggers!

warnings; vivid descriptions fo panic attacks, major anxiety references, mentions of death and threats.

It had been a while since you’d had a chance to go back and see the man you were hiding away. You knew he’d be okay, you’d stocked up the house with snacks, over the past few weeks you’d taught him how to cook basic meals for himself. He seemed to be going through the books lining Derek’s shelves faster than you would have imagined, but then again, he had to fill his days with something.

He was catching on fast. Fast enough that you knew he’d be perfectly fine alone for a week, but you didn’t feel good about the amount of time that had passed. You had spent what had remained of the summer break visiting every day, or every other day in the minimum, and as soon as school had come back, things had caught up. Your studies were fine, but yet another supernatural threat was pressing down on you all, and now there was someone hunting down supernatural creatures around Beacon Hills, almost all of your friends at risk.

A week. A week had passed since you’d last been to visit, and you feared for the mood the man would be in when you returned. He’d opened up to you, enough to have small conversations here and there, but you hadn't progressed much further after his session with answering your questions all those weeks ago. Derek had called, extending his trip with Cora until Christmas, and so a weight had been lifted off of your shoulders in that you didn’t have to find him somewhere new to stay.

One less thing for you to worry about.

You had spent the day with the pack, running over scenarios and situations as you tried to find results, only to come up with dead ends. You were at the end of your tether, there was nothing you could do. As a human, you were for once the safest in the group, you and Stiles not being hunted, and yet everyone else was. You hated it, you hated how useless you felt, and you couldn't even bring yourself to hide the frown on your face when you unlocked the sliding door to the loft and entered the large space.

The sound of a thick book snapping shut and stiff material creaking under the movement of a heavy weight greeted you, and you found V popped up on his elbows, a book sitting on his chest as he peered at you from the couch, brows furrowed and eyes narrowed on you.

“Thought you might not come back this time.”

His voice was low, and you let out a deep sigh, shaking your head and running a hand through your hair as you dropped your bag from your shoulder down to your hand, carrying it over to the couch with you. He moved his legs as you made to sit down, swinging them over the edge of the sofa and making room for you to sit down beside him. You flopped back into the cushions, turning your head to look at him and he raised his eyebrows curiously, placing his book down and sitting up fully, enough to scoot closer to you across the couch. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be.”

“I’m not going to leave you, I’m just overwhelmed at the moment.” He hummed in response, before picking his book back up and opening it to it’s place. You weren’t sure what you had expected, he wasn’t well-adjusted yet, and you weren’t exactly seeking comfort, but you’d expected a little more from him than just being ignored as he went back to his book.

Digging through your bag, you pulled out your notebook and placed it on the table, open to the page with all the notes you and Stiles had scribbled down while working through problems earlier. However, no matter how many times you went through your bag, you couldn't find the pen you had been using, and suddenly, you could see it in your mind’s eye, tucked behind your best friend’s ear where he’d placed it before picking up the phone when Scott had called.

You let out a loud sigh, cursing under your breath and tossing your bag aside, dropping your head into your hands for a second and growling under your breath, the noise muffled by your palms, but still perfectly audible to the man you sat with.

“Are you okay?”

“Do I fucking look okay?” You hadn't meant to snap, and he looked taken aback by your outburst, his brows furrowing as his lips twisted down in a frown, your jaw tensing as you dragged your eyes away from his in guilt, searching across the room and finding a pent sitting on the stacks of books, next to a journal you’d left him a while ago to practice learning to write with, and he followed your gaze to it.

Picking up the instrument, he slammed it down on the table before you, nimble fingers pulling back as he jerked away from you like you were a flame that had burned him. “All you had to do was ask.”

The comment made you want to shout again, anger and frustration from the day bubbling up inside of you, and your eyes squeezed shut as you tried to control your rage, instead trying to work through the issue before you, trying to work out the passwords for the list of prices and names for those being hunted.

The evening continued much the same, as the hours passed on you found everything becoming too much. You were stressed, and overly tired, days of barely sleeping taking it’s toll on you as your tether wore thin. Everything from the scraping sound of the paper each time he turned the page, to the sound of Derek’s obnoxiously large clock ticking away was making you even more irritated.

His leg had been bouncing, twitching like Stiles’ would and you’d told him to stop, you’d told him to move up because he felt too close to you, and now he was sitting on the floor. He’d accommodated every silly whim you’d presented him with, and yet you still couldn’t help the growl that came under your breath as his fingernails absentmindedly scratched at the denim of his jeans as he read his book. It all became too much, and you slammed a fist down onto the table, everything a top it rattling as he jumped and looked up at you.

You were fixing him with a hard glare, and for this first time tonight, and in a long while, he fixed you with the same chilling look that had been his default expression when you’d first saved him. “What now?”

His teeth had been gritted as he spoke, and you scoffed at his attitude, shaking your head and crossing your arms as you looked at him. “You’re making this scratchy noise. It’s annoying me.”

“Everything I do seems to be annoying you, tonight.” You grumbled at his comment, pinching the bridge of your nose and you heard him hum to himself, flicking the page of his book extra loudly in protest. “If it’s so awful being here, why don’t you just leave?”

“Excuse me?”

“Leave. I didn’t ask you to be here. I’ve been perfectly fine alone, in all the days you didn’t have time for me.” He muttered the final words, and your eyebrows shut up, getting to your feet and placing your hands on your hips, trying to intimidate him as you towered over him but he got to his full height, and suddenly you were looking up at him as he glared down at you, now feeling much smaller than you did a second ago.

“This is my friend’s place, I’m looking after you! You should fucking leave!”

“And go where? I didn’t ask you to save me! If I’m so much of a burden to you then you should have left me for dead!” The comment made you swallow down thickly, but electricity was zapping through the air with each comment thrown in raised voices and angry shouts between you both, and the fire burning in his eyes only fuelled you on, no matter how much you knew you may regret your words.

“Maybe I should have! It would be a lot fucking easier for me!” His eyes darkened as he looked at you, jaw sealed shut before he schooled his face into a more neutral expression, and his ability to wash your emotions away only added wood to the burning rage within you.

“Do you really want me to leave?”

“I want you to get out of my fucking face is what I want!” You dropped back down onto the couch, hearing him huff out a ‘fine’ as he moved around the room, and you watched him go, shaking your head and rolling your eyes as he dramatically pulled open the loft door, leaving it ajar as his footsteps sounded on the stairs, disappearing into silence as he left.

A cold breeze swept in, cooling your fiery temper, and you shivered to yourself, the room suddenly feeling much larger with just you in it, and you felt increasingly more lonely as you looked around. Stretching out your muscles, you made your way over to the door, sliding it shut just enough to keep the coldness of the night out, and you felt guilty, knowing that the man had stormed out barefoot in just a t-shirt and a pair of jeans.

Your attention turned back to that of trying to solve your benefactor issues. Your mind was spinning, your stomach grumbling, and after another half an hour of wavering focus and drifting thoughts, you resigned yourself to making food. It wasn’t until halfway into your prep of the meal that you realised you had accidentally been making enough for two, instinct having taken over, and you sighed as you dished up your own, before leaving the other half int he fridge as leftovers.

Eating along gave you time to think about what you’d done, and you stabbed at the meal, eating slowly on rapidly cooling food as your appetite dwindled, replaced by nauseating guilt that twisted sickeningly in your guts. You washed the dishes and placed them on the rack, hiding in the kitchen, hoping that if you hung out in there long enough, that when you came back through, V would be back, scowling at you from his seat on the couch.

In a bid to occupy your mind, you made your way back to the couch, curling in on yourself as the thin blanket that kept you warm was no longer providing warmth, instead, leaving you feeling as though you were going to catch as chill, and over an hour had passed by since your friend had left, someone you had pushed away instead of letting in, and tears welled in your eyes as you thought about your other friends.

The words on the page seemed to blur the longer you looked at them, and you squeezed your eyes shut, a heavy and hot tear dripping down onto your cheek, and you were quick to wipe it away. You slammed the notebook shut, pulling your legs to your chest and burying your face in your knees, willing back the tears threatening to spill. You were clinging to yourself, rocking back and forth as the silence of the room took over, and you felt like you were sinking, drowning, entirely alone.

You made the split decision to get up, your body barely reacting in time with your movements as you stumbled to your feet, sniffling and blinking back tears as you dragged the door out of your way, not even bothering to close it again before you were searching the building, top to bottom in a weak hope that you may find the man hiding out somewhere as he waited for you to calm down, but you had no such luck. You searched through the outside, wandering so far away from the main building that you had to use the torch on your phone to just find your way, shivering violently by the time you returned alone.

Your skin was cold to the touch, coated in goosebumps from raised hairs as your teeth chattered, and your arms were wrapped tightly around your own body. The only warmth you had was from the tears slowly tracking down your cheek as you cursed to yourself, rubbing at your nose and your eyes, skin sore from salty tears you’d released.

Your breath felt like you were gasping by the time you were stumbling back into the loft, your heart racing, beating almost painfully hard against your ribs, though everything felt like it was in slow motion. You felt weak, your body giving way beneath you as you sobbed, clawing at your chest to pull breaths in, and you couldn’t find a blanket for the life of you. You knew Derek had them here, and your hands were shaking, so much so that as you searched through the boxes and drawers you were practically ripping them from their shelves, leaving them turned over as things clattered to the ground.

You couldn’t save your friends.

You couldn't save one person you found in the street.

You couldn’t even save yourself.

Your knees hit the floor painfully loud, the thud sounding through the room as your hands laced into your hair, tugging at the roots form your stress as you collapsed to the floor, everything around you seeming to blur away as your oncoming panic attack gave you struggles to even breathe, to wound up to even be able to see your surroundings anymore.

It was too much, you were just one person, you were a teenager. Your main concern should be what to wear to prom, whether you would have a date and which colleges to apply to. Every morning you woke up you lived with the constant fear that today may be your last day, that you may have to hold one of your friends as they died and that you may not be able to do anything to help them, that you may lose someone else.

Your phone lay across the room from you, and a brief thought of clarity to call Stiles, or Lydia or Scott, to call any of your friends flashed through your mind but it was dead, too far to reach in your weakened state and drained of battery from being used as a torch even if you did manage to reach it. It felt like everything was against you as your vision faded from the lack of oxygen you were getting into your lungs, your mind spinning on loops, making you feel both sick and dizzy.

Your body curled in on itself on the cold concrete of the loft floors, a chill sweeping across your skin, and you could barely focus when you turned, finding yourself on your back and staring at the high ceilings. A hand found the back of your head, honey brown eyes peering into your own as you were scooped further up. He was kneeling beside you, legs flooded under himself as he lifted you up a little, and your hands found fistfuls of his shirt, pulling him closer but simultaneously pushing at his chest.

“Y-Y-You left! You a-actually left!” Your words were stuttered out, and he ran a hand over your cheek, eyes wide as he gaped, no idea how to help you, and so in spite of all your struggling, he simply pressed your cheek into his chest, holding you tight to him as you tugged on his shirt. “There are n-no b-blankets, and y-you left!”

“You told me to leave!”

“I didn’t r-really want y-you to!” Your words didn’t make sense, and instead, you just pushed your face into his neck, sobbing into his skin as he held you close. He was stiff and tense, but his arms were wrapped around you and you were clutched to him tightly.

Eventually, he moved, scooping you up under your legs and holding you tightly to him, his legs a little shaky as he carried you over to the couch, settling back into the cushions with your body still wrapped tightly around him.

When your sobs calmed a little, his fingers brushed over your arm, soothing you with the patterns until your fingers undid from his shirt, sitting flat on his chest, one pressing over his heart, feeling it pump steadily under your palm, and your head was cushioned against his shoulder when you pulled back enough to get fresh air.

“You told me to leave.”

This time when he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper, and you swallowed thickly, sucking your lower lips between your teeth and nibbling on it for a moment. You opened your mouth, willing yourself to reply, but only a broken sob left you, your eyes dry as you were all cried out, but sadness once again surged your system.

He squeezed you tightly once again, his hands stilling, fingers spreading out wide as he held you. “The blankets are stacked in a box beside the door.” You let out a weak laugh, raising your head just enough to look at him, and his lips flicked up at the corners. “You were talking to yourself.”

He shifted you to lie you down on the couch, a yawn on your lips as he padded across the room, fishing out one of the familiar knitted blankets you recognised so well, before he was making his way back over to you, tucking it around your body carefully. He took a seat beside you, and you shuffled, resting your head on his thigh as you let out a shaky breath, your eyes closing as you finally relaxed. “Y’know, I’m supposed to be the one saving you.”

His response was whispered to you, sleep already taking you over as you warmed back up and relaxed happily, one of his hand’s lifting up just enough to settle delicately on his own legs beside your head, his fingers sweeping over your cheekbone. “Maybe we save each other.”

Sleep soon took you over, and you drifted off with the feeling of fingers brushing through your hair, tucking stray strands behind your ears until you were drifting off into unconsciousness, a well-needed sleep. Your body refused to wake until the sun was beginning to peek up over the horizon once again, almost ten hours having passed you by when pale colours were painting the skies as a new day was ushered in.

You jolted upright when the fog over your mind cleared, finding yourself jerkily rising up. There were indents in your cheek from where you’d slept, the man slumped uncomfortably, half keeled over as he dozed, and he slumped further down into the cushions once you left, the weight distribution changing as he huffed in his unconsciousness and rolled over.

You shrugged the blanket from your shoulders, smiling to yourself as you looked down at the man, draping the soft woollen material over his body. Crouching beside him, your fingers brushed the hair from his eyes, and he pushed his face into your touch sleepily, your hand pulling back rapidly when his eyes opened, fluttering just enough to peer at you tiredly.

“You’re leaving again?”

“Yeah, but I’ll be back this afternoon.” His lips flicked up at the sides, and he opened one eye fully to look at you, the other closed, and if you weren’t mistaken, there was an almost cheeky glint in his opened eye.

“Promise?”

You huffed out a laugh, nodding your head. “Yeah, I promise.” You told him about the food you’d left for him, and he nodded, soon drifting back off to sleep, your keys in your hand as you tried to shake yourself off for the drive home.

When you got home, you had taken a shower and changed your clothes, plugging your phone onto charge before getting yourself some breakfast, before calling Stiles to check in with him. He updated you on their progress, because apparently, they had all been working all night too, and had made a little new progress with which or update you on. There were three lists in total, a second banshee from Eichen house had been recruited to assist, and you jotted down everything else, a hand running through the tangles in your hair.

You packed a bag, collecting up some books and a spare charger to leave at Derek’s another hoodie that Stiles had left at your house and forgotten about that you could wear for now, and give to V later on.

Something had shifted between the two of you, something radical had moved between now and last night, having fallen asleep with the man, letting him ease you back from a panic attack, the air surrounding you both felt different. You were almost anxious on the drive back to see him, your fingers tapping against the wheel as you sat outside for a good while, before eventually shaking yourself down for your unnecessary fears, grabbing your bag from the back of your car and taking them up to the oft with you, choosing to prolong your time by taking all of the stairs, giving yourself a chance to talk.

When you opened the door, you found him looking over his own shoulder, back to the mirror hung up on the wall as he tried to reach his cuts, his shirt in a puddle on the floor, and his head whipped around to look up at you as you closed the door. He fixed you with a bright smile - almost dazzling - upon seeing your return to him.

Your anxiety slipped away, and you raised a brow, watching as he bowed at the waist to scoop up his shirt and tug it back over his head. You waved the bag at him, showing him the contents, and his eyes lit up as he spied the collection of books hidden within.

“You brought me books?”

“I brought you the Harry Potter books. They’re very good, and I love them, so don’t fold the pages. I also brought you a bookmark.” You dropped the bag down onto the couch, and he lingered a few feet away from you, and an oddly comfortable silence falling between the two of you. You weren’t sure whether to speak about what happened the night before, or whether to leave it, whether you should thank him again or not.

He broke your train of thought, the wringing of your hands that you hadn't realised you were doing came to a pause as he spoke. “I ate the food that you left.”

“You worked out how to use the microwave?”

“That what?” The two of you were staring at each other with furrowed brows, and your lips parted, silence settling between the two of you, your heart clenching for him when you realised he must have just eaten it cold, and you made a mental note to teach him how to reheat food, later. Your phone rang, the shrill sound of Stiles’ particular ringtone snapped you from your thoughts, and you fumbled into the pocket of your hoodie to find it.

“Hey Sti, what’s up?”

The man across from you stood quietly, moving forward to pick up one of the books, and Stiles took off in an explanation about a breakthrough they had found, the smile dropping from your face as you listened to him. Tapping the front cover of ‘The Philosopher’s Stone’, he took that one, giving you time to talk as he settled on the couch, and you shot him a reassuring smile, before wandering away into the kitchen for some privacy as the joyful expression dropped from your face.

What had felt like a vacation for a very short while, a brief period of happiness, was once again coming crashing down around you. They had passwords to unlock the lists, and your foot tapped against the floor as he updated you on new information that had come to light. At some point, your feet had just felt too heavy underneath you anymore, and so you were leaning against the counter, your body shaking as you listened to Stiles read off the names of your friends, and who was worth how much.

He promised you it would be okay, that you were all doing the best you possibly could to do protect them. You suppressed the sob that wanted to rise in your throat, telling your best friend just how utterly powerless you felt, and he did his best to reassure you. Once he had hung up, you placed the phone down beside you, covering your face with your hands, squeezing your eyes shut as your body trembled.

You weren’t sure how long you were stood there, nor how loud your phone conversations had been, but you didn’t lift your head again until your name was called from the doorway of the kitchen. You were shocked, he’d never used your name before, you knew he may have caught it from the conversations you’d had, and because you’d never formally introduced yourself, you were surprised he’d learnt it at all.

He had a hand on the top of the kitchen doorframe, practically filling the space as he looked at you carefully, and you wiped under your eyes, smiling carefully and pushing your phone into your back pocket after lifting it from the counter. You avoided his eyes, clearing your throat of the lump that had formed, before wiping your clammy hands on your oversized hoodie.

“How far into the book did you get? End of the first chapter yet?”

Your eyes barely flicked up to his as he ignored your words, taking a step towards you before you were looking up again. Your eyes were lined with tears again, and his shoulders slumped as his brows raised, expression morphing into that of a silent question and you swallowed thickly.

“My friends are going to die and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

Your voice cracked at the end of your sentence, and he closed the gap between you both, one arm wrapping around your body as the other cupped the back of your head pulling you into him softly. Your knees all but buckled from the compassion he offered you, and you’d been held like this by Stiles many-a-time, but something with V was different, it was more, and you couldn’t tell why.

It wasn’t a burning warmth or a consuming passion, but instead, it was simply a flicker of possibility, the idea that maybe he would come to mean something to you.

He held you up, for as long as he could, before his hands were once again scooping up under your legs to lift you up, and a weak laugh left you, fighting through the tears as deja vu washed over you. He sat down, placing you down beside him, his arm wrapped low around your waist, your legs across his lap as your cheek pressed into his shoulder. His free hand came up, carefully wiping your cheeks free of the tears flowing from your eyes.

He didn’t ask, he didn’t make you talk, not once.

Instead, he held you, picking up his book and balancing it on your stomach as he began into the second, and third chapter of the book you had brought him. By the time he was ending the third, you were beginning to squirm in his arms, wanting to move without disturbing him, and so he placed the bookmark into the fold of the pages, closing it and placing it down beside you both.

“You keep looking after me.”

“Someone has to look after you like you looked after me.”

“And that’s you?” You shuffled, moving to look up at him as he shifted, not looking down at you but instead moving to press his cheek to the top of your head, silently tucking you under his chin.

“It could be.”

You hummed, nodding your head quietly and stretching out your arms. Getting yourself up, his hand on your back gave you an assist, pushing you to your feet and resting on your back to keep you steady as he watched you, and you spun on your heel, new happiness and joy filling you as an idea came to mind. “How about a movie and a pizza?”

“You’re staying?”

“Do you want me to go?” You watched him, a genuine smile on his lips as he stood up beside you, your hands fidgeting in front of yourself, a single brow raised, and he took your hands in his to steady them, much like you had done to him several times over the past few weeks as he’d revealed more and more to you about his history.

“No. I don’t. I like it when you’re here with me.”

“Cool.” You grinned, taking one of your hands from his and fishing your phone from your pocket, pulling it up and opening an app to order a pizza.

“Cool.” He repeated, and you laughed under your breath, shaking your head at the way the word sounded so odd coming from his lips. You moved ordered you both some food, just enough to fill you up, before you were moving away to find the television remotes and instructing him to fetch some drinks from the kitchen as you unfolded the blanket from last night.

In a split-second decision, you caught his wrist in your hand as he went, turning him around as he looked at you quizzically, and you bounded up on your tiptoes, pressing your lips to his cheek. A barely present kiss was left on his skin, your mouth barely brushing his cheek, but the tip of your nose followed as you fell back down onto your feet and turned away from him to the television in order to choose a film, not missing the small smile on his lips that was mirrored on your own.

162 notes · View notes

writingsbychlo · 4 years

Text

more ways than one (04)

word count; 4597

summary; he finally cracks, and answers your questions, and everything seems to come to light about who he is, and why he’s here.

notes; don’t forget that teh timeline is different, other than that, enjoy!

warnings; reference to sin, reference to death, reference to possession, abandonment.

The door of the loft seemed lighter as you dragged it back into place, pausing as you glanced at the lock, before taking the risk and leaving it unbolted, dropping your keys onto the top of the small counter beside the door. The room was eerily quiet, and panic surged through your body once again, before a body was peeking around the doorway to the kitchen, his shoulder deflating as he relaxed upon seeing you, and you tucked your hands into the pocket on the front of the large blue hoodie you’d stolen from you best friends wardrobe.

Your worry calmed, the slight spike of fear suddenly settled and you stood still, your eyes connected with the man and he emerged fully from the kitchen, taking slow steps toward you until he was stood only a metre or so away from you. “You came back.”

“I promised you that I would.” You offered him a small smile, and while he didn’t return the gesture, his face held it’s relaxed yet emotionless expression, and he nodded, mulling over your words.

“Promised.” The word rolled off of his tongue, again, as though he had never heard it before, like it held no meaning to him, and you were determined to prove him otherwise. He cleared his throat, taking a deep breath before he was looking back to you. “Hello.”

Your jaw dropped, silence filling the air before a small laugh left you, a toothy grin taking over your features as you looked at him, your brows rising. “Hi. Hello, yes. Hi.” Your words were almost breathless as you spoke, and you swore yous aw the edge of his lips flick up in amusement, his hands rubbing together before his body, nervously scratching at his palms as he stood under your scrutinizing gaze. “You’re talking to me? We’re making progress.”

His eyes met yours for only a second before they were darting back to the floor, studying the space between you with such intensity you’d think it was like he was seeing it for the first time. You took a fraction of a step closer, and his head tipped up to look at you. Reaching out carefully, you took his hand on your own, his entire arm tensing as you pulled his hand towards you, unwrapping his fingers and revealing the streaks across his palms from where he was scratching within his clenched up fists with his anxiety.

You ran a finger over his palm, his fingers twitching as you moved, until the tips were dagging together, and you repeated the action on his other hand. Holding his open palms into your own, you smoothed your thumbs over the irritated flesh, splotches of blood risen tot he surface from where he’d almost broken the skin. “You don’t have to be nervous, okay? I just want to help, I don’t know why, but I do. I’m not going to put you in danger or hurt you.”

His shoulders sagged as he took his hand back from your own, hesitating before reaching out and taking your wrist in a loose grip, and he simply squeezed gently in response to your words. “I don’t answer your questions. For that, I am sorry.” Silence hung between you both, your lips parting just slightly as you tried to find words, and he watched you, barrelling on before you had a chance to respond. “If you still have questions, I will give you answers. You have proven to be worth my trust.”

Sliding your arm up, you took his hand in yours, delicately enough for him to pull back if he wished, but he didn’t, and you took him slowly behind you to the kitchen. For the first time since you’d met him and stored him away secretly here, you got two new sets of kitchenware from the cupboard, a mismatching set of mugs that you placed on the counter before filling Derek’s kettle at the sink.

He lurked nervously by the counter, watching as you placed a single teabag into each mug, and you turned back to him, only the low drone of the kettle as it heated the water for you both to break the silence.

“I’ll make us some tea, and then we’ll talk. I think you’ll like it, it’s calming.” He nodded, before taking a seat at the counter, tapping his fingers in jittery motions in a way that was familiar to you in your best friend, and you knew tea would calm him down, because it had always worked on Stiles, too. The switch on the kettle clicked, and you spun around, steam curling up into the air as you filled each mug, dunking and swirling the teabag with the small string and tag that was attached to it, before taking both mugs by the handles and moving toward the man watching you. “Let’s go to the couch, yeah?”

He trailed behind you, taking a seat on the cushions and accepting the mug you offered him, both of his hands wrapping around the heated porcelain, and he raised it up to his nose, sniffing it cautiously. You took a seat opposite him, sitting cross-legged on the couch and blowing on the hot liquid within the cup. He watched you do so, repeating the action himself, before taking a tentative sip, and you watched him carefully, hiding your giggle at the way his brows raised in approval by taking a sip of your own drink.

Tension hung thick in the air between you both, and he studied you, twisting his own body to mirror the position you sat in, the two of you facing one, crossed legs and clutching mugs of tea as sunlight flooded the room, lighting up the brown eyes that stared back at you in a beautiful pale brown, almost honey-coloured as they glowed in the light, pale skin looking golden as the highlights in his hair stood out.

The man looked borderline angelic.

It was quiet for a few moments, and he gave you your time to adjust to this new side of him, sitting still as you observed him, only ever moving when he raised his arms up to lift his come to his mouth, sipping on the herbal mix in the mug as he waited for you. His own eyes were sweeping over you, the two of you taking a moment to really get to know one another, to observe each other’s ticks and traits up close.

“Okay, let’s start easy.” Your shoulders slumped when you eventually settled on your questions, mentally listing them within your head, and you swallowed a large mouthful of your tea, wincing as the hot liquid rushed down your throat. “Why are you here?”

He seemed a little surprised by your first question, his head ducking down and he freed one hand from his mug to pick at a loose thread on his sweatpants. “I was cast out.”

Your mind blanked at his words, your bros furrowing and suddenly a new second question came to mind, your mouth working before you even had a chance to stop it as your new query voiced itself; “What do you mean ‘cast out’? Why?”

“I was cast out for my sins.” The thread snapped, his hand jerking as he pulled it away from the sweats, the thin thread wrapped tightly around one of his fingers, and he shook his hand, letting the string fall to the ground and you followed it with your eyes, humming as the questions only piled up, and instead of getting into his cryptic answers, you chose to push on with your list.

“Why do you look like my best friend?”

He squirmed at your question, his hands trembling a little as he sipped his drink, and you waited as he took a deep breath, nibbling on his lips as he thought about his answer. “I took the form of the person I failed last when I was cast out.”

He raised his mug up, taking long and deep gulps until his drink was finished, and he leaned over to place his mug down on the table. Once it was placed back down, he squeezed his palms, his nails digging into his hand as he tried to resist making fists. Instead, you ignored the way he twitched in discomfort, because he was still willing to talk, and you gave him his time as you watched him soothe himself.

“I failed him. I failed to guard Stiles. I failed them all.”

His voice cracked toward the end of his sentence, and he finally looked back up to you, a broken expression on his features, his eyes lined slightly with tears as his bottom lip trembled, and you felt your heart break just looking at him.

His left hand came up to rub at his shoulder, and you followed his gaze, brow furrowing as you processed his words, letting out a weak laugh as an unlikely idea clicked.

“Are you trying to tell me that you’re Stiles’ guardian angel?”

A subtle smirk pulled at the edge of his lips, his eyes flicking between yours as he licked over his lower lip, nodding at you slowly. “You’re a smart one, aren’t you?”

You offered him a dazzling smile, chuckling at the small huff of a laugh he let out in response, before the silence was once again settling between you. He was like an entirely different person, he was talking to you, more words in one sentence than he’d spoken to you in the near week you’d known him now, and you guess that was because you’d managed to earn his trust. Between looking after him, patching him up and providing him with a place to stay, you had broken down just enough of his defences to earn yourself some answers.

Your eyes flicked back to his shoulders, and he turned his head, looking over his shoulder as best he could before twisting his gaze back to you. “You want to ask about my wings, don’t you?”

You nodded, and he had a small smile in response to your words. Twisting on his knees, he faced away from you, pulling up his shirt up enough to show you the padded gauze tapped down, and you peeled it away gently. The skin was raised, red and raw but scarring over with pink flesh, a small gasp leaving you at just how fast they had already healed. Your fingers ran over his skin, his muscles twitching under your gentle touch, and you peeled away the wrappings, dropping them to the table and letting him drop his shirt back down, hesitant in his actions as he turned to face you again.

“They took them when I was cast out. Ripped them from my back.” You felt the muscles in your back tense as he said that, a wince on your face as phantom pains travelled over your body and he smirked a little as he watched you do so, rubbing a hand over his jaw before scratching at his chin. “I have to live a life as a human would, it’s my punishment for all that I’ve done.”

“And what have you done? Why are you being punished?”

His eyes seemed to darken as he looked at you, narrowing slightly, before he let out a long and slow breath, his shoulders rising and falling in a casual shrug. “Because I’m a sinner.”

Minutes passed you y as you waited for him to continue, and yet he seemed to be lost in his thoughts, short breaths being pulled into his lungs as he progressively got himself more and more worked up, and you’d seen this before, the oncoming of a devastating panic attack, and you shuffled forward, taking his face in your hands.

You were used to this with Stiles, his eyes wide and manic in the exact same way that your best-friends would look when his emotions would overwhelm him, your hands cupping his face. You offered him a delicate smile, running your thumbs over his cheekbones to calm him, your knees brushing his as you knelt before him.

“You don’t have to talk about it, it’s okay.”

“No, I do!”

He was taking deep, gulping breaths as he steadied his breathing, darkness taking over the shining honey in his eyes as they flickered between entirely black, and white with brown irises, flashing between the two the more he panicked and he squeezed his eyes shut. “You’re panicking, you don’t have to tell m-”

“Yes, I do!” The glass in the windows practically shook with the volume of his voice, and you jumped, his hands coming up to hold at your wrists, keeping you close to him as he leaned into your hands, swallowing thickly and shaking his head. “I want you to know. I want you to understand.”

“Okay, okay. I’m here, it’s okay.” He hummed, his fingers tightening around your wrists as he controlled his breathing, fighting off the anxiety that was flooding him, until eventually he was no longer trembling, his breaths still shaky but steady, and he released your hands, placing them in your lap but making sure you stayed close to him, before picking at his nails and looking back to you.

“When I came into being - or, born, as you might say - I was considered defective.” His jaw clenched at the words, his hands sitting open on his lap, palms facing the roof and he looked up, following the direction with his gaze, swallowing thickly as he stared at the high ceilings. “Every other angel has beautiful wings. Feathers pure and white as snow, and so did I. They were beautiful, big and soft and they suited me so well.”

You reached over, rubbing at his shoulder comfortingly and he gave you a smile, his eyes creasing at the corners, before he was taking your hand away from his body and holding it in his own, sitting between you both.

“There was one black feather. Dark as night, a direct contrast to the rest, It sat right here, next to my right shoulder.” He used two fingers to tap at the spot, and you rubbed your thumb over his knuckles, silently encouraging him on with the story, your attention captured as you continued to learn about the mysterious man before you. “I didn’t have the same inherently good instinct that they did. I questioned it, I questioned why we didn’t sin, didn’t indulge in what we wanted.”

“That seems normal. To question, to wonder. If you don’t understand your instincts, you can’t have morals. You have to know.” He nodded at your words, a hint of a smile on his lips as he watched you.

“You understand me.”

“I’m trying to.”

“They didn’t understand.” He took a deep breath, sighing in sadness before continuing on; “They didn’t understand why I lacked their own lack of wonder about their way of life, and I so wanted to be like them, to fit in, but the more I tried the harder it got. I didn’t want to sin, but I wanted to know, I wanted to experience the world and everything it had to offer.”

“You just wanted to know what it was like to live?”

He dipped his head in a single nod, choking down any emotion that wanted to rise up. “That’s when they gave me my name. Boido.”

“Boido? Boido.” You repeated the name a few more times, and an empty chuckle left him as you familiarised yourself with the unusual name and its pronunciation.

“It.. it translates to the word ‘void’ in your language.”From what I believe you to call the Japanese language.”

Your jaw dropped, your eyebrows pulling cinched the middle as you looked at him, and he watched you carefully, anger flitting across your features. “They named you Void?”

“Because I was void of what it meant to be an angel.” He spoke the words like they meant nothing, his tone light, but his hand squeezed tighter around yours as he refused to meet your eye. “I failed, I sinned. I wanted to explore and adventure, and be more than just someone else’s conscience when they made bad decisions. I wanted to make bad decisions of my own, and know what it felt like to be free.”

You took a deep breath, considering all of the information you’d been given, before leaning back in the cushions, turning to stretch your legs out before you, feet popped on the coffee table, one ankle crossed over the other. Once again, he mimicked your position, his shoulder pressed up to yours as your connected hands sat between the two of you on the couch.

“I sinned, and then one day there were two black feathers. Then three, then four, and so on. They kept adding up, each time I failer a person, each time I sinned and didn’t uphold my standard, the numbers grew. Until there was more black than white, and I started to become more and more outcast.”

His voice was trembling as he spoke, unable to hold in the quiver in his voice, and you stared straight ahead of yourself, but adjusted your hold on his hand until your fingers were laced together, and he held your hand in both of his.

“When they expect you to be Void, to be bad and irredeemable, what exactly is the point in being good or even trying?” His question was understandable, not demanding an answer but still hanging heavy in the air between you both. “Your friend was the last person I was assigned to help, and I failed him. When my last white feather turned from snow to ash, they tore my wings from my skin, and banished me here, and you found me when I hit the ground.”

He opened his mouth to speak again, and you shook your head, sitting forwards immediately and turning to face him, still slumped back into the cushions of the couch, but eyes wide and lips pursed as he looked at you. “Why don’t I make us some food, and we can pick this up after? I think we need a break.”

He gaped at you, before nodding happily, standing up from the couch and letting go of you hand after a moment, rolling his shoulders to loosen the knots in his body, and he picked up both mugs, taking the initiative for once as he cleared away his empty mug, and your cold and half-drank one into the kitchen, leaving you to clamber to your feet and follow.

He was holding the pan out in offering to you when you made it into the kitchen, and you shook your head, placing it down before fishing through the other pots and pans to acquire a frying pan, and you placed it on top of the hob, flicking it on underneath and searching for the oil, allowing the man to watch you as you fished out little packets of herbs and spices that you’d stocked up, tipping some of the oil into the pan to heat up.

Opening the fridge, you fished out a selection of the fresh vegetables you’d stocked the cooler-box up with, as well as taking out the tray of chicken fillets.

“Why don’t you chop these vegetables for me, yeah? Nice and thin pieces. As thin as you can get them without cutting yourself.” You passed them to him, searching for a sharp knife, one for you and for him as you showed him how to cut them best, and he quickly took over.

He was a natural in the kitchen, building neat piles of perfectly chopped veggies, the thought bringing you a slight dab of amusement as he found a soothing peace in chopping veg. You, however, were chopping the chicken into long strips, dropping them into the sizzling oil and stirring occasionally as you did, adding seasoning and flavourings as you waited for the squishy pink meat to turn to firm white.

Once it had, you took the vegetables from him, scraping the slices into the pan and leaving them to grow soft in the remnants of the oil and the juices from the chicken, and he moved around you to pluck your usual two bowls and two forks form the drying rack, placing them beside you and waiting as you stirred the food, testing the textures of all of the elements of the food, before deeming it appropriate. As you did, you turned off the heat, dishing you both up a steaming bowl of hot chicken and veg, and he lifted a dish to his mouth, sniffling carefully and humming in approval.

Once you were both seated at the table, glasses of water to accompany your food, you were only a few bites in, the scrapes of forks on dishes being interrupted by his voice once again. “I made a deal.”

You raised a brow, stabbing at a particularly large chunk of chicken, making sure you got some of the stir-fried veg onto your fork two in a balanced mouthful, before raising a brow, motioning for him to go on, and he dipped his gaze down, taking another forkful of his meal and chewing happily as he dug into the food.

“I wanted to know who I was, why I was born with a black feather when nobody else was, I wanted to know why I was different. So, I made a deal.”

“I’m assuming it was a deal with someone you shouldn’t have been making deals with?” The edges of his lips twitched up, and he tipped his head to the side, chewing his food happily before taking a sip of his drink.

“I was touched by evil before my.. birth.” He shook his head, the light amusement in the air suddenly slipping away and he put his fork down in his half-eaten meal, clasping his hands on the table. “It wasn’t my fault. The deal I made, it had consequences, but I didn’t know.” His hand ran through his hair, ruffling it aggressively and slamming a hand down on the table in his own frustration. “Nogitsunes, they’re evil spirits, they’re tricksters. I know you’re familiar with them.”

“I had a rather unpleasant encounter with one..”

“It was my fault, I didn’t mean for it to happen. They twist words, they trick you.” He clicked his tongue, shaking his hand by his head nervously as his face scrunched up, angry and upset at himself. “I didn’t know that Stiles would be possessed, I didn’t know at the time! When I found out, it was too late. I’d already taken my half of the deal, already taken my knowledge, and they were taking theirs.”

The name was unusual on his tongue, but he spoke it with purpose and determination and admiration, the same way you felt about your best friend, proud and happy to know him.

“You’re the reason his possession went away. We had no idea how to get rid of it, we thought he would die, and then one day, it was just gone.” He had picked up his fork, stirring his food around the dish before he was eating again, never looking up at you but his eyes were flicking around the room, looking at anything else he could find. “That was you, wasn’t it.”

“Yes.”

His voice was barely a whisper, and you hummed around the final bites of your food, washing it down with a sip of your water. Crossing your arms before you, you leaned forward, looking closely at him. “What did it cost you?”

His eyes were watering when he looked up at you, his mouth opening, but no words came out, and he swallowed thickly, staring down at the remnants of his food. “My last white feather. They’re worth a lot, angel feathers, and I gave it up to save him.”

The questions ended there, and he finished eating, before he was placing his bowl in the sink, taking yours too and you ran the water, splashing some washing up liquid over them and scrubbing them clean, all the instruments you had used for cooking, too, before placing them on the drying rack, and he watched as you did. With a hip leaning against the counter, your eyes finally found his again when you dried your hands off.

Your gaze flicked between his and the living room, a silent question to ask where he wanted to continue this conversation, and you glanced down at your watch, eyes widening as you realised just how much time had passed. His brows were raised when you looked back to him, and you gave him a soft look to ease his worries.

“I have nowhere to be.”

He guided you through to the living room once again, the two of you taking place at either end of the couch, your legs stretched out so far that your feet almost touched his legs, his arm stretching out over the back of the couch. “I’m sorry for what happened to your friend, and I’m sorry for hurting you. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

You nudged your toes against his leg, and he dropped a hand to sit on your ankle, his eyes watering as he shuffled in his seat, rubbing the palm of his free hand into his eyes to clear them of unshed tears. “Do they hurt?”

He looked at you, your eyes focused on his shoulders, and he swallowed thickly, before nodding at you, and your face fell even further.

“I don’t think you deserve to be what they made you become, V.”

“V?”

You smiled at him, his brows raised as he watched you, and your body relaxed back into the couch. “Well, I’m not going to very well call you ‘void’, am I?”

His jaw dropped, pink flooding onto the pale skin of his cheeks, his smile wider than you’d ever seen it, his lips splitting to reveal his teeth as he looked at you, the hand on your leg squeezing in thanks as he looked at you, and that same look of pure joy was once you were familiar with from Stiles.

“How about a movie?”

“What is a ‘movie’?” He watched as you fished around for the remotes, turning on the tv on the wall, and he jumped when the volume came on, his eyes wide as he stared at it in wonder. You scrolled the channels, soon choosing a movie, and the two of you settled into silence. He was enraptured by the movie, and yet your mind was spinning as you thought about everything you had learnt in the last few hours.

With your cheek resting on the cushion, body curled into the couch, you let your mind spin with everything you now knew. You had gotten all of your answers, and yet you couldn't be more confused.

No longer confused on who you were dealing with and what had happened, but instead, what you were going to do now, and how you were going to help the man you had saved. There was no way you could throw him out, no way you could abandon him, and yet, you had no idea what or do with him, or how to tell your friends. Not to mention, the arising problems once again within the supernatural world, your struggles with senior year classes, and your rapidly oncoming graduation.

You were in too deep, you were drowning, and you felt like you couldn't swim.

He was an enigma, and you really were stuck.

157 notes · View notes

writingsbychlo · 4 years

Text

more ways than one (03)

word count; 4173

summary; you finally start to make some progress with the clone copy that you’re harbouring.

notes; a little bit shorter than other parts, but they’re just making progress, that’s it.

warnings; none.

You were practically dragging your feet as you made you way up to the loft, a deep and heavy sigh on your lips and the keys jingling in your hand, the warmth from the heaters in your car slipping away and you realised just how cold the large building complex actually got when it wasn’t buzzing with the energy of all your friends or the heat from Derek’s central heating.

The lights of the elevator flickered, and you watched as it flicked from the ground floor, up past the first floor, the second floor, and finally to the third, curiosity spiking within you as you wondered just what might lay on the floors between Derek’s and the main lobby, but you’d never been shown, and it felt wrong to pry into Derek’s personal life like that. Who knows what he’s got going on?

Your voice within your own mind rang with the words ‘Mr Hale will see you now’ as you contemplated the secrets that might be held within the floors, and you were still snickering to yourself when you unlocked the door, the large open plan floor that you knew so well was lit up warmly with natural daylight and quiet was settled over the room.

“It’s just me, please don’t throw anything!”

Your playful mood clearly wasn’t reciprocated, because the man wandered out from the kitchen, a sour look on his face as he glared at you, the expression stitched on his face screaming a silent ‘fuck off’ as he all but sneered at you. Rolling your eyes, you toed off your shoes, your arm aching as you adjusted the heavy bags hanging from it, his own eyes moving down to scan along the many possessions and items you had brought with you.

Despite the warm glow of the room, the atmosphere was freezing, and you hummed as you moved further into the room, putting down all your bags on the messy couch, picking up the cushions and adjusting them before rubbing at your arms. “It’s fucking freezing in here, I’m sorry I can’t turn the heating on, but then Derek would know something was up, and I’m pretty sure you don’t want other people to know about you.” His neutral expression turned down in a bitter frown at your words, and he stayed standing idle in the kitchen doorway.

Despite your mentions of the cold, he still stood in the same thin cotton t-shirt you’d left him in last night, and he didn’t seem all that affected by the lack of heat in the room, your brows furrowing as you took him in, bare feet on the cold stone of the cement floors making your cringe as you shivered, only getting colder at the sight of him.

“You’re not cold?”

You hadn't really expected an answer, and he merely watched at you, his body tensing a little as you watched him, the locked stared between the two of you growing uncomfortable and you tore your eyes away from his, glancing over the bags you had brought with you and rubbing your hands together as you prioritised.

“How are your wounds doing? Will you let me take a look?” You took a cautious step toward him, and though he flinched at your approach, he stayed still, before eventually turning, and he reached a hand behind his head, a soft grunt of discomfort leaving him as he tugged the shirt up until it was over his head, pulled tight around his biceps as they hung before his body as you looked at his wounds.

Your finger traced over the soft white material of the bandages, his body shifting under your hold and he glanced at you over his shoulder, your eyes meeting his and you tried to ease him by offering him a small smile, only being rewarded with a blink, before he was looking away again, and you reached around to his front to find the seal you’d left, and you unwrapped the material carefully. Lifting his arms to help you a little, the wrapping came loose, allowing you to peel back the padding you’d put on his body to check on the gashes down his back, a gasp falling from your lips.

He startled, turning to look at you and you placed your hands on his hips, holding his back to your tightly and he twisted his head, doing his best to look at them as you shook your head. “Sorry, no, nothing bad.” His eyes narrowed on you, but there was no hostility behind the glare as he turned his head back, his body deflating as he sighed in relief. “These are healing really quickly, they’re doing so well.”

Wrapping the wounds back up, you checked that they were properly sealed, shaking your head in approval and letting out a little sound of satisfaction at your own work, bouncing on the tips of your toes as he pulled his shirt back on over his head, easing it down his body until he was covered again, before turning to you.

“You’re healing unnaturally fast, but I’m really not all that bothered about questioning it. Kinda’ wish I had that ability for getting rid of my hangovers after Lydia’s parties.” At this point, you were just rambling to yourself, talking aimlessly as you busied yourself with making your way back over to the couch.

“What’s a ‘hangover’?” Your eyes widened as he spoke, and he swallowed thickly, his throat sore and aching as he coughed on it upon speaking, his eyes fixed on you and you made your way to the kitchen, tipping your head at him in signal for him to follow you, his footsteps quiet and slow as he trailed after you.

“A hangover is what happens to you after you drink way too much, usually at Lydia’s parties because she spikes everything with a lot of vodka.” You giggled, and it didn’t seem to clear anything up, his brows furrowed, and you merely waved your hand at him, dismissing the statement, choosing instead to take a glass and fill it up with cool water, handing it to him and motioning to your neck, and his eyes dipped to look at the floor as he took it, sipping on the liquid slowly.

Shaking your body down, the enthusiasm you’d held while in a bubbly mood was slowly slipping away as awkwardness filled the room between the two of you, the air heavy and stifling, and you chose instead to move around him, your body slumping and you took two of the bags you’d abandoned on the couch, tins and jars jingling within them as you brought them back into the kitchen.

You shuffled around the kitchen quietly, paying extra attention to the way in which you were laying out the vegetables in the kitchen drawer, colour coordinating the fresh produce you had brought with you, before unstacking packets of pasta and jars of sauce into one of the cupboards, making sure everything was lined up perfectly until there was no way you could possibly avoid socialising with the man behind you any longer.

He had finished his glass of water, and you took the glass from him, placing it in the sink as he wrung his hands in front of his body, flexing his fingers open and closed within fists, before spinning on his heel and making his way from the room. You watched him go, shaking your head as he moved his body in awkward and jerky movements, flexing and freeing his muscles, before poking through the final bags on the couch.

An evident routine seemed to be setting in between the two of you.

You would arrive at the loft, silence would take over as you checked his wounds, before moving onto cooking. You’d make him a meal, eat in silence as he stared at the food, possibly eating it or possibly not, all depending on his mood, before finally going back to ignoring you and you eventually left. The situation was the same shit on different days, and you chewed at the inside of your cheek to keep from bubbling over with anger.

Taking the same pan from the draining rack that you’d become accustomed to using, you tipped pasta into it, guessing at how much you would need and thinking that perhaps at some point you should stop just making him pasta and make him something real, but you weren’t quite in the mood to start with a Gordon Ramsey approved three-course meal for the man that wasn’t indulging you in more than three words at a time.

Holding the metal instrument under the tap, you watched as the water took over the top of the solid tubes, and you placed it onto the hob, sparking it up and fishing around for a spoon in the drawer in which to stir with once it really began to cook.

You zoned off as you stared into the bubbling water, the pasta softening and you absentmindedly twirled them around the pan, sighing out in exasperation as the tubes swelled up and lightened in colour, and you reached for the drainer, turning down the heat as you strained the food, the water draining away and you rinsed the starch away, tipping the jar of sauce over the food and placing it back on the heat, stirring until the sauce was piping hot.

The smell of tomatoes and herbs filled the air, smelling so good that your stomach grumbled, and clearly, the notion was reciprocated because shuffling caught your attention, and your eyes flicked up to notice the man hovering in the doorway, head tipped up slightly as he sniffed at the air.

Taking two bowls, you tipped out the food into the dishes, balancing a fork on top of each meal before turning to him. You had expected him to take the dish and leave with it, or to look at it before storming from the room the way he had the previous times you’d tried to feed him. Pulling out a seat at the kitchen counter, you hopped up onto it, stabbing at your food and blowing on it carefully, his brows furrowing as he watched you.

Pulling out a seat, your jaw hung slack a little as he sat opposite you, stabbing at the pasta, before blowing on it tentatively, the look on his face questioning as he watched you, before biting cautiously at the mouthful. He’d barely taken two chews of the food before his shoulders were slumping, a happy sigh leaving him as he shovelled more of the food into his mouth, and you had to suppress a chuckle as you watched him practically inhale the meal, pride filling your chest.

He didn’t say anything else to you, and while it was slightly upsetting that he would sit with you but not talk when you now knew he clearly understood what you were saying, at least you were making progress. He was sitting with you, and eating the meal you had made, and his aggressive attacks seemed to have stopped. Some kind of trust had been formed between the two of you as you helped patch him up and heal the wounds, and for now, that was enough.

The meal was practically torturous as you ate, the man long-since having finished his own dish, but instead of leaving, he sat with you in silence, watching you as you ate and heat flooded your cheeks. Eventually, you had reached out for his dish, and he’d pushed it across to you carefully, watching as you scraped half of the portion of pasta you had left into his dish and offered it to him.

He finished that before you had finished yours, again.

You felt a pang of guilt, knowing just how hungry he must be when you were only showing up once a day, and the time was going to come when you wouldn’t be able to come and see him every single day. You needed more snacks and simple food so stock the cupboards so that he could eat even when you weren’t here.

He was a puzzle. He could talk, and fight, and seemed like a functional person but he can’t cook himself a meal, or run a bath, or dress his own wounds.

Once you had finished, he lurked around the kitchen as you washed the pots, the same collection of utensils and crockery moving from the sink, to the table, to the drying rack, on a repetitive cycle. He was standing by his seat, scratching at the bandages on his torso with a scowl on his face and your eyebrows raised, and he sighed, squirming under your gaze as he resisted the urge to pick at the fabric under his shirt.

“You know, if it’s irritating your skin, I could probably take off the bandages and just tape down the padding a little more. It’s healing.. oddly quickly.”

He seemed to perk up a little bit, his shoulders rising as he stood a little straighter at your words, and he took the initiative for once, making his way through to the living room where he seemed to have set up camp, a stack of books beside the empty bags from the groceries you had brought with you. You ran your fingers over the spines of each of the books, no dust on the covers and your eyes flickered up to glance at the bookcase across the room, a clear patch on the shelves where books had been carefully selected, and you plucked one of them from the centre of the pile, glancing at the cover.

“I got Derek this book, I don’t think he’s ever actually read it, but I think you’ll like it.”

He licked over his lip, watching as you put it down on the top of the pile, and he picked it up, swapping it placing it directly under the one balanced on the corner of the coffee table, the one you figured he must be reading now, a subtle signal that he would read that one next. Tugging up on the collar of his shirt, he peeled the material up, and you quickly undid the bandages wrapped tightly around his middle, dropping the pile to the table.

Picking up a fresh packet of padding, you tore it open carefully, peeling away the slightly blood-soaked ones that were there and replacing each one as you went, applying double the tape you had applied the time before in order to ensure they stayed in place, seeing as no bandages would be going on this time.

Once they were all secured, you tapped at his shoulder in a signal that he could lower his arms and his shirt, his hand smoothing over his front as he relaxed, feeling at the place where the bandages once lay, and almost relieved look painted on his face. It was a look you’d seen many times before on your best friend, and yet despite having the same face, he still managed to look entirely different at the same time.

Sweeping up the bundle, you stuffed the used wrappings into a bag to take with you, dumping the whole collection by the front door, only one bag remaining sitting on the couch, and you worried your lower lip between your teeth, messing with the zip on it as you stood in tense quiet for a few moments. “Do you want me to leave?”

He didn’t reply, his fingers fidgeting with himself anxiously as he shuffled, not even bothering to look up at you but his body didn’t become defensive, and he didn’t tense up. Instead, he took a small, minute, step closer to you, dragging his gaze up from the ground with pursed lips and a neutral stare fixed on your own. You took a deep breath, letting the tension slip from your body, your shoulders slumping as you turned to face him fully, holding his gaze and unwilling to back down under his intense watch.

“You want me to stay?”

The words were spoken almost timidly, as though you were worried you might offend him, and he blinked at you, his chin tipping up in agreement and he swallowed thickly, looking between you and the bag sitting beside you on the couch cushions, before he cleared his throat, his expression smoothing out into one that almost looked relaxed when you mumbled an ‘okay’ under your breath.

You grabbed one of the large cushions from the couch, dropping it onto the floor, the flopping sound it made out echoed from the walls and you decided that you absolutely couldn’t stand the silence any longer, choosing to pull your phone from your pocket, nibbling on your lower lip as you scrolled through all your playlists, before settling on a slower one, turning the volume down until the classic guitar notes could be barely heard, but it broke up the silence and you smiled to yourself, settling down on the cushion with the phone out on the table before yourself.

Clearing some space from all the cluttered belongings littering the surface, you tugged the textbooks and notebooks from your bag, choosing to start with your summer maths assignments to get ahead on classes for senior year, laying it out before you and plucking a pen from the fuzzy pencil case that always made you smile. The man still stood idly on the other side of the table, and you made a pointed effort not to stare at him as he tried to sort himself, and for a while he just stood there, his gaze burning into your skin as you scribbled down equations and answers, humming along to the tunes playing gently in the space around you.

Finally, he moved, picking up the book from the top of his pile and holding it in both of his hands. Instead of settling on the couch, he rounded the table, his leg brushing your shoulder as he took a seat beside you, mimicking you by sitting cross-legged on the concrete, and you turned to look at him. His gaze swept over your face at close range, closer than he ever had been, before he balanced his book on the wood before him, turning his attentions to the writing you were doing, a single finger reaching out as he brushed it over the material of your pencil case, the softness of the artificial purple fur making him hum in appreciation, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to contain the smile that threatened to break out.

He simply watched you work for a while, his fingers sometimes tapping on the hardcover of his book when a particularly catchy tune played, and you made a mental note of the songs he enjoyed, deciding to make a specific playlist of those ones and ones like it when you got home, because the music was doing fucking wonders for his mood and temper.

Eventually, he got bored of watching you do quadratic equations, and chose instead to read his book, the bare skin of his arm brushing against your rhythmically every few minutes as he turned a page, and yet he never shuffled away or made an effort to distance himself from you. He merely stayed put, taking comfort in the light form of physical affection as the two of you sat together in relative silence, the only sounds being the beats of the melodies and your humming along, the flicks of book pages and the scratch of pen on paper accompanying it.

The peaceful environment soon came crashing down around you though, when the device cut off from the calm tunes it was playing, buzzing loudly on the table for a split second before a loud remix of the Star Wars theme tune blared out, disturbing the ambience you had created, and the man beside you jumped violently in shock. His body tensed up, the book slamming shut as he glared at the device, hands forming fists as he leaned forward to look at it, and you placed a hand on his shoulder, a curse falling from your lips as you picked it up.

The calm aura around you both had been shattered, and you squeezed at the man’s shoulder, his body relaxing just barely under your hold and you nodded at him, holding the device up before him to show it was okay, his eyes widening as he looked at the contact picture shown to him.

You seemed unfazed, completely unaware that you were best friends with his charge, the boy he had failed so badly, and you were grinning as you swiped a finger over the screen. His mouth felt dry, his stomach twisting as the blaring music finally cut off, and he watched as you lifted the device to your ears, talking into it as a muffled voice came from the other end.

Your heart clenched at his confusion, the adorable look on his face making you smile a little as he watched you talk, no idea what a mobile phone was, evidently, and your hand slipped down from his shoulder, resting on his forearm as he moved to look at your hand on his arm, your fingers flexing absentmindedly on his skin as you traced soothing patterns into his skin, chatting in a tone that was far lighter and happier than you’d ever used around him before.

You shifted, your happy gaze dropping for a second and panicked spike in his body when you let out a stressed sigh, your eyes meeting his and the smile no longer reached your eyes. His sights were fixed on you as you stood up, balancing the thin device between your ear and your shoulder, brushing off the dust the cushion had become covered in from being placed on the floor, before you were putting it back in the place it belonged. Scooping up your books, you closed each of them, humming and mumbling acknowledgements to the boy who had called you as you packed away, and the doppelgänger watched you move, still sitting on the ground with a book in his lap.

Once your bag was zipped up and on your back, you scanned around the room, swiping your keys from the coffee table, standing stock-still in the centre of the room, finishing up your conversation and promising to be there in a few minutes, your heart sinking and gut twisting. Of course, the pack would need urgent help, the second you were beginning to make progress with the man you were hiding out in the loft.

“I..I have to go.” You didn’t expect much of a response, and you watched as he simply ducked his head, tearing his gaze from yours as he picked at the slightly worn leather on the front cover of the book with a bitten down and torn fingernail, before lifting it up to sit on the table. Getting to his feet, he walked past you to the door, picking up the two bags on the floor before turning back to you, a single eyebrow raised as he held them out to you, waiting patiently as you took them and adjusted them in your arms comfortably.

Unlocking the door again, you stood in it, his hands hanging idly by his sides as he watched you, before taking a step away, a signal that he wasn’t planning to run away again while the door was open, and you let out a sigh of relief. His hands flexed into fists as you moved, raising a hand to the handle on the metal door, and he reached up, sealing his fingers around your wrist, worry flashing in his eyes as he stilled your movements, sights flickering over your face for a second before his lips parted.

You waited, no matter what was going on you definitely had time to wait for him to speak, the cogs in his mind visibly turning in his eyes, his features twitching as he tried to work out what to say, before he was taking a deep breath, and looking directly at you.

“I..” He swallowed, shaking his head at himself, his voice soft and nervous as he blinked slowly. “See you soon?”

You let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding in, smiling widely and nodding at him. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be back real soon. Tomorrow, I promise.” He didn’t seem to understand what a ‘promise’ was, but he nodded at you, his fingers leaving their gentle hold on your wrist as he pulled it back to his side.

“Tomorrow. Promise.”

You were shocked he was even talking at all, but after watching you for a moment, he turned his back on you, wandering into the loft and back to sit down, and you slid the metal door closed, sealing him from your own view and locking it, a beaming smile on your lips as you hopped down the steps and made your way to your car.

164 notes · View notes

writingsbychlo · 4 years

Text

more ways than one (02)

word count; 5135

summary; you have to patch up the man you found, and help him tend to his wounds, and at least try and find some kind of common ground.

notes; things will begin to pick up pretty soon, I promise. we’re just laying the foundations.

warnings; graphic descriptions of injury, gore, blood, near-death experiences.

You were panicking as you looked out of the main bay windows, barely able to see your own car down below where it was parked out front from the dark that had set in, and the rain was pelting against the windows. You had practically bitten your thumbnail right down to a stub and your chest was almost aching from how long your heart had been pounding against it in fear.

Cold shivers had long since set over your body, your hair still dripping with water from where you had gotten caught out in the woods searching for the missing male when the storm clouds had finally cracked, and your skin was still sticky as it slowly dried in the cool environment of Derek’s loft. The lights were all turned off so that you could see best outside, a few candles lit to give you just enough light to move around, and yet, you could barely see anything more than outlines on the horizon, your breath fogging up the glass as you pressed your forehead to it and cursed.

You had lost an injured man who had no idea where he was, possibly even who he was, and you still had no idea whether he understood you. He looked exactly like your best friend, and you’d kept him a secret for twenty-four hours now. Your friends would be pissed when they found out. You really weren’t sure what you’d do if one of the pack found him first, or a regular person, or the Sheriff.

Your eyes stung as salty tears lined them, and you had already busied yourself with every task you could think of, knowing it was unsafe for you to go back out there searching, no matter how much you wanted to. The roads would be slippy in the storm, the window howling fiercely and it wasn’t safe to drive. It wasn’t safe to wander the woods alone in the dark anywhere, but certainly not in Beacon Hills, and despite the strained situation between you and the man, you were deeply concerned for him.

The wounds on his back were open and debilitating, and he hadn't eaten in at least twenty four hours, most likely more. He didn’t talk, and he seemed to have no idea where he was. All you could do was wait until the morning before going out searching again, and at this point, it was beginning to feel more and more like you’d be going out in the morning to search for a body instead of a fleeing person.

Just as you were giving up hope, the stumbling sound of heavy and uneven footsteps on the stairs outside of the entrance was heard, and you almost fell over in your rush to get to the door, sliding the metal open and wincing at the emphasises sound of screeching metal in your hurry, Your mind was practically spinning as your eyes locked onto the dishevelled form before you, and he was barely holding himself up as he climbed the final step, his body slumping over in exhaustion and he fell towards the ground, your feet moving you forward to catch him before you even had a second to think about it.

He stumbled into your arms, his skin so cold he was almost blue and you let out a ragged and relieved sigh, a shaky laugh sounding from you the pure relief flooding through you made you feel like you were floating in the clouds. His gaze found yours, eyes half-lidded and dazed and he focused in on the unshed tears lining your eyes, confusion etching onto his tired features but for once, it wasn’t a judgemental confusion.

Your arms sealed around his waist, one of his own slung loosely over your shoulders as you guided him over to the couch, his feet all but dragging against the floor as you tried to carry him along and he collapsed down on the soft material, falling onto his stomach and letting out a low groan under his breath as his face pressed into the cushions. His body was shaking from the cold you were panicking, rolling on the balls of your feet as your spinning mind tried to process every option.

He tried to move, yet another sound of pain leaving him and you dropped to your knees, your gaze finding his as you knelt by his head looking over his body as you worried your bottom lip between your teeth, brushing the wet strands of hair that was flopping into his eyes away, and his gaze on your narrowed, tiredly analysing your movements as you mumbled to yourself about a plan.

With a hand on the edge of the coffee table, you stripped the light jacket from sitting on your shoulders, shaking yourself down nervously as you moved around, all but bouncing on your feet as a new kind of energy-filled your body, and you made your way toward the kitchen, poking your head back around the doorframe for a split second to look at the man still collapsed across the furniture.

“Don’t fucking run again!”

He merely grunted in response, what had to be the most sarcastic grunt you had ever heard, and you were sure if he weren’t half-dead - and knew what it meant - he’d probably be flipping you off for your comment. Instead, you hurried around, swiping the handful of rags that you’d been intending to use before as you fill a dish with warm water, trying to balance the collection in your arms as you moved back towards him. Pushing the coffee table as close to the couch as you could get it, you knelt beside him, taking a deep breath as your hands hovered over his back, palms spread open as you paused, your eyes open wide as you tried to process where to begin.

“Look, I know you don’t trust me, but you’re just going to have to suck it up and let me fix you up, okay?”

All you received in response was a low sigh, and you placed one hand down on his lower back carefully, his whole body tensing up at the contact, a low sound of discomfort leaving him as he did, and you placed the other down on his upper arm, squeezing his bicep lightly in reassurance and you felt his muscles ease just a little from the gesture.

“I’ll talk you through it all, okay? And I’ll go slow.”

You had no idea whether he was understanding you, but his eyes found yours, no longer narrowed and scrutinising, simply watching you, and you turned to the bowl of warm water, pulling it toward you and grabbing the first of the stack of cloths you would have to wash and replace before Derek came home. Dipping the end of the cloth into the water enough to wet it, you lifted it up before his eyes, and he observed you carefully, his body twitching as he considered moving, inevitably choosing to fight his flight instinct and stay where he was.

“I’m just going to clean your back first, you’re covering in dirt. I’ll be careful.” You nodded to him, before pressing the warm cloth to his skin, wiping in slow movements, cautiously moving around the edges of each cut as you cleared his skin of the dirt, pale flesh showing up each time you dipped the cloth back into the water. You swallowed thickly as you noticed the murky colour of the cleaning water holding a slight red tinge, your heart sinking for him each time you came across a new cut and bruise on his flesh, wondering just what he got himself into while he was out there alone.

Moving along his arms, you cleaned his skin carefully, everything you could see as you worked, until you were holding the hand that wasn’t propped under his head, cleaning along his fingers delicately, and they twitched in your hold, what almost resembled a light squeeze before you pulled away, heat crawling up your cheeks as your head ducked, and you offered him a small smile as you put the filthy rag down.

“You’re not going to like this next part.” The tension in his body returned, his brows furrowing as he looked at you, and yet his body never shifted this time. Tearing open the bag of cotton ball swabs, you took one in your hand, unscrewing the lid of the anti-bacterial wash and dabbing some onto the small applicator, his nose scrunching up as the smell filled the air, and it prompted a small laugh from you. “Yeah, it doesn’t smell great. It reminds me of hospitals, which is really where you should be, but I have a feeling that wouldn't work out very well.”

You shot him a pointed glare at his word as you continued to soak the cotton balls, lining them up along the table until you had a fair amount ready to work with, and he watched you build the collection, his gaze flicking between your face and the swabs you were preparing.

“This is going to sting, but it’ll stop them getting infected, okay? I’ll start with the little scratches.”

Doing exactly as you said you would, you dabbed the first cotton ball along his skin, and he huffed out at the contact, squirming as the antiseptic soaked into his cuts and grazes, and you moved over the smallest injuries you could find, avoiding the fleshy red wounds along either side to his middle back, focusing your attention on them until you’d cleaned each one, his body shaky slightly under your hold. You placed it down beside the discarded bowl of water, wringing your hands nervously as you picked up a fresh swab.

Looking at him, you could almost make out the worry in his eyes, his fingers curled around the edge of the cushion so hard you were sure his fingers would burst right through the material and into the stuffing inside. On a small act of comfort, you peeled his fingers from the couch, slipping your hand into his, your palms pressed together as your fingers wrapped around the back of his hand, his own hanging limp in your grasp as you returned your focus to his injuries.

Deciding to start with the furthest cut, you adjusted yourself on your knees, leaning over him with the first swab in hand and you squeezed his hand lightly before dabbing it softly along the wound, his body arching and a tortured cry leaving his lips as his eyes squeezed shut, his fingers wrapping around your own and gripping so tight your own eyes watered, but you allowed him to hold on.

Once the cotton swab had turned from snow white to crimson red, you swapped it out, dropping it to the floor and replacing it as you worked as swiftly as you could. As you cleared away the blood, both fresh and old, you began to truly see the extent of the injuries. The flesh was torn and ripped raw, chunks of flesh and muscle missing, and it became apparent that these weren’t just clean cut slashes but more like ripped away holes, as though something had torn down his back. You sniffed, pulling away for a second to blink back tears as you shivered at the mere thought of just how much pain he must be in, sympathy pains racking your body as you choked back the bile rising in your throat in order to clean the bloody mess.

His fingers flexed around your own, and you squeezed back as you moved onto the second one, his body tensing up and goosebumps crawled over his skin, his muscles so tense you worried they may lock in that position, and the only sounds between you both were your occasional sniffs from you and the grunts and groans the man beneath you made as you cleaned him up.

You left out a relieved little cheer as you finally finished, and your head hung back for a moment as your eyes closed, and the man under you relaxed, his fingers going slack in your hold as you slipped your hand free. His eyes were half-lidded and his lips parted as he let out shirt breaths, and you relaxed, rolling your shoulders as you wiped your bloodied fingers clean, on a fresh rag, picking up the packet of the largest paper stitches you had and tearing the top open with your teeth.

“You did so good.” You whispered, and his lips closed, sealing in a thin line as he focused his sighs on you, eyes searching yours carefully. “I’m going to put a few of these on to close the wounds so they heal better, then some bandages and we’re done.”

Taking the first row of the large sticky items, you lined up a row long the unaffected skin on the first cut, from the top to the bottom as you prepared yourself, a hand soothing over his lower back carefully as you readied yourself and him. Pinching the skin together, he shuffled uncomfortably, burying his face in the cushion to muffle the noises he made as you quickly sealed down the strips, pulling back to see if they’d hold, and your eyes widened, a happy cheer leaving you as the skin remained pulled taut, the stitches holding the wounds shut as best they could so they could begin to heal.

Repeating the action on the other side, you dropped the empty sheet of stitches to the floor, wiping at your forehead as you slumped back, unfolding your aching legs from underneath you as you lay across the cold stone floor, a tired sigh leaving you as you both relaxed. When you’d taken a minute, praising yourself for the work you’d done, you forced yourself back up, finding he’d turned his head to the side and was looking at you once again. “Think you can sit up for me?”

He blinked at you, and you reached out to him, taking his shoulder carefully as you tried to ease him up into a sitting position, and he growled at you his eyes flashing with anger to warn you away and you backed off, hands raised as you let out a deep sigh.

“Just when I thought we were making progress.” You mumbled, shaking your head and watching as he struggled on weak arms to push himself up, his face contorting in pain and for a moment you worries he’d burst open the stitches you’d done on his back, but he managed to heave himself up into a sitting position, twisting his body until he was tiredly sitting on the edge of the couch, hands bracing himself on his knees as his upper body hunched over on itself.

Soaking and ringing out one of the final clean rags you had, you handed it to him, motioning to the dirt covering his torso and he looked between it and himself, before taking it in a shaky hand and cleaning himself off as best he could. Water dripped down from the cloth, leaving streaks along his pants and the couch before dripping to the floor, but it was the least of your concerns right now, and you busied yourself with prepping the padding and gauze while he did, the wet sound of the cloth dropping to the floor alerting you that he was done.

Taking the padding first, you moved behind him, tape in hand as you sealed down padding over the cuts, something that sounded almost like a relieved sigh sounding from him as you covered the cuts, the cool air of the loft no longer brushing over them and irritating the raw and exposed flesh, his body sagging under the weight of holding it up, his skin twitching in each place your fingers brushed against. Circling back to his front, you picked up the roll of wrapping, kneeling up before him between his parted legs, a slight heat rising to your cheeks as he remained where he was, his unsteady breaths brushing over your cheeks with each light pant he released. “Can you lift your arms for me?”

You motioned with your own arms for him, and he did as instructed, his arms rising up just enough for you to be able to tuck your arms underneath. Sealing the end of the wrapping down to the centre of his chest with a piece of tape, you moved the roll around, your face so close to his your noses were almost touching, your hands passing the roll around in what could be mistaken for a hug had you closed your arms around him any tighter. Once you had the roll in your other hand, you pulled back, circling around his front again, his arms shaking as he struggled to hold them out in his weakened state.

Each time you moved back in, it gave you a chance to really observe him. Everything from the speckled moles on his jaw to the shade of his eyes was the same as your best friend, and despite the sickly pale clour of his skin and the sunken bags under his eyes, you knew they would be identical once he healed, your confusion only deepening at the situation.

Once you were sure he was fully bandaged up, you ripped the fabric off sealing it down with a few pieces of tape, fastening the bandages in various places around his body. It didn’t look great, not as good a job as Melissa could have done, but it was pretty good for your best effort, and you rewarded yourself with a smile, nodding at your work.

Gathering the equipment that was around you, your eyes closed in one the flannel you’d stripped away earlier so that you didn’t have long sleeves in the way. It was Stiles’, one you’d stolen a long time ago, and you held it out to the man carefully, his eyes flicking over the item before lifting an arm to take it. He struggled to ease his arms into it, your own hands helping him get it up over his shoulders, and he was looking more and more like your best friend with everything you did to try and help him.

Taking the used and dirty equipment, you dumped them all in the kitchen sink, washing them tiredly as you suppressed your yawn, leaving them on the rack beside to sink to dry once they were scrubbed clean. The towels you’d used would have to be washed, and so you wrapped up all the rubbish on in the last clean one, a bloody mess sealed within and you tied it tight leaving the rest of the medical supplies on the table.

When you glanced back to the man, he’d keeled over, a small smile flicking on your face at the similarity between him and Stiles as you took in the way his cheek was pressed to the cushion, jaw open and eyes fluttering as he slept, one arm hanging over the edge of the couch as his legs spread out, the other arm tucked under his head as he lay on his stomach.

Taking your bag, you shrugged it up onto your shoulder, the bundle to be disposed of and clean in one hand as you took your keys in the other, blowing out the candles and closing the loft door, making sure to lock both of them behind you as you went. Despite the tiredness crawling through your body as you got into your car, you couldn't help but feel good about yourself, knowing all you had accomplished tonight.

--------------

You were exhausted when you returned the next morning, arms wrapped tightly around another bag full of belongings, and you laughed to yourself at the idea that by the time Derek came home, he’d think you’d moved into his place. Unlocking the door, the motions awkward and jerky as you struggled to get the keys into the lock, but you finally succeeded, the door sliding open as you stepped into the room.

You had barely turned around from closing the door when something flew past your head rapidly, bouncing off of the now-closed door and you let out a small shriek in shock, some of the items in your arms toppling to the floor as you jumped. Your eyes closed in on the object, one of Derek’s wooden coasters sitting on the floor by the wall, and your eyes narrowed as you turned to glare at the man who was standing by the couch.

“Don’t fucking throw things at me!”

Your angry scream shocked him, and his hands balled into fists by his sides, but he at least had the decency to look a little ashamed of his actions as he shuffled from one foot to the other. You scowled at him, grumbling under your breath and he scoffed as you shot him a dirty look. He frowned at you, your eyes locked in an intense staredown between the two of you, and his jaw clenched. He blinked, the soft honey colour slipping away as the orbs filled entirely with a deep black, before he blinked again, the darkness having slipped away and your jaw dropped, the edges of his lips flicking up for a split second in a hint to a smirk that you almost didn’t catch sight of it was gone so quickly.

“You know what? Those were your clothes that you made me drop, so you and your.. creepy eyes can pick up the clothes off of the floor.” You kicked the bundle toward him, before stomping away to the kitchen, ensuring to give him an extra dirty look as you went. To your surprise, when you glanced over your shoulder, he was standing before the dropped clothes, before kneeling awkwardly, his knees hitting the floor as he tried not to lean too far while picking them up, folding them in terrible piles and placing them on the coffee table before him and climbing to his feet.

He winced as he did, but quickly schooled his features, your attention moving back to the bag of food before you as you pulled open the fridge, hearing him shuffling about behind you as he slowly entered the kitchen. You were unstacking groceries into the fridge, packing items in the cupboards as you slowly emptied the heavy bag in your arms until the ache no longer existed.

Finally turning to him, you leaned back against the counter, your eyes taking in every detail as his face as you watched him. “You look better. Thanks to my amazing medical skills, not your stupid attempt to get pneumonia.” You grumbled, and you heard him huff in response, your lips quirking up at the sides. Colour had filled his skin once again, his statue holding a little stronger and more lively, he stood taller than he had last night and he’d managed to do up the buttons on the front of the flannel covering his body, even if they were done askew, but this was the first time since you’d seen him that he’d actually been wearing a shirt, and this the injuries, almost making him look normal.

Your nose wrinkled as you reached his feet, both his pants and skin caked in dry mud and dirt, the pants were torn and the smell of dirt, sweat and blood hung in the air around him, even with your human senses it was overwhelming and you were more than glad to have no wolf senses in this moment.

“You need a bath. I should also change your wrappings.” He stiffened at the mention of his bandages, and you made sure to stand as far from him as you could while walking around him, picking up a pair of grey sweatpants and a navy blue cotton t-shirt from the pile, glancing over your shoulders as your eyebrows raised. “Well? Come on. You’re going to stink everything up.”

He growled lowly, glaring at you as he followed you through the large complex, glancing around curiously as you took him up the spiral staircase, and you weren’t sure if he’d bothered exploring or whether he’d just stuck to lurking around the couch. Opening the large bathroom door, you dropped the fresh clothes down on the counter as he stood in the doorway, practically filling it frame to frame with his broad shoulders as you plugged the tub, switching on the taps and listening to water filling the tub.

You searched through the cabinets for a fresh sponge, swiping it from it’s wrapping and finding some shampoo and body wash, placing them all along the side of the tub for him as the water filled up. “I’ll leave the clothes here, and when you’re done, I’ll help you rewrap your bandages.”

As the water ran, you made your way over to him, nodding slowly to the shirt he was wearing, and his fingers undid the buttons slowly, his body tense and stiff as he slipped the flannel from his arms, your fingers peeling at the tape holding them down as you let the material fall away slowly. Once it had cleared, you checked that the padding was still secure, humming as you looked at it happily, the lack of blood soaking through meaning that the paper stitches were holding tight.

He looked at you pointedly as you turned off the taps, heat flooding to your cheeks as you nodded, hurrying from the room quickly and shutting the door behind you, leaning back against the cold wood as your eyes closed. Seconds later, you heard the water sloshing, knowing that he had climbed into the tub and you shook your head, retreating from the bathroom slowly and making your way back to the kitchen choosing to busy yourself with washing and chopping some carrots as you waited.

You had just finished scraping the carrots into the boiling water over the hob, having put a little too much effort into slicing them into tiny pieces to occupy your buzzing mind. The floorboards creaking behind you are what caught your attention, and you spun around, taking a shallow breath as you turned to look at the man, wet hair spiky and sticking up in random directions as he searched through the collection on the table as he fished about for the bandages, the grey sweats sitting on his hips just barely brushing the edge of the tape holding on the padding.

“Let me help you; you won’t be able to do it alone.” The second you doubted him, his eyes flashed up to meet yours in a burning glare, a look you were quickly becoming accustomed to and you halted in your steps immediately. Your brows raised as he held the roll close to himself, sneering at you as he turned his back and wandered away, your eyes wide as you watched him walk up the stairs and your jaw dropped, a scoff leaving you as you shook your head.

Turning back to the kitchen, you searched through the cupboards, finding the instant noodles again and dropping them into the pan of bubbling water alongside the thinly sliced carrots. Sprinkling the flavour packets over the top and stirring the water carefully, you got two dishes out of the cupboard, turning to place them on the counter and you jumped as you looked at the tall man watching you. His eyes were avoiding your own as he shuffled between his feet, eventually letting his shoulders slump as he held out the roll of bandages to you, a wince on his face as he shifted uncomfortably.

In his other hand dangled the blue t-shirt, and you turned down the heat on the hob before taking the bundle from him silently, shooting him a small smile and placing a hand on his chest to push him back from the doorway to and you could feel the irrational beat of his heart under your hand, which you quickly retracted as you had him angled in the lighting you needed. Taking the roll of sticky tape from the table, you snapped a few pieces off and stuck them in tabs along his arm, before adjusting them outwards in the air and pinning down the first piece just over his ribs.

Your arms pushed around him, his chin tilting up to rest over your head each time you leaned back into him, your hair brushing against his skin and you caught a whiff of the pleasantly scented citrus body wash he had used his skin truly clean for the first time since you had saved him. You worked quietly, only the combined deep breaths of you both and the bubbling of the boiling water only ten metres away from you.

“You smell better now. You smell good.” You were fastening the bandages in the front as you spoke, and he looked down at you, humming under his breath once you finished speaking and you chuckled lightly at the basic response, but it was a nice change from grunting and growling.

Once you were happy with the way they were secured, you stepped back, and he pushed his hands through the sleeves of the t-shirt, raising his hands up as far as he could as he tried to shrug the material onto his body, a pained noise leaving him as he struggled, the material getting caught around his elbows. You stepped in, taking the material and lifting it up, helping to guide his head through the gap, tugging it down over his body until the ends were brushing the band of the sweatpants, and you tapped his hips, taking a step back and turning away from him.

A hand sealed around your wrist, not in the tight and bruising grips you had been used to from him, but in such a feather-light touch there was barely a weight on your skin, and your eyes scanned along the arm to his eyes. He looked at you carefully, licking over his bottom lip and opening his mouth, closing it again before swallowing down thickly before fixing a gaze on you.

“Thank you.”

He coughed after speaking, his voice so hoarse and raspy that he could barely speak the words, and he stretched out his throat, shifting his head side to side form the discomfort speaking the words must have caused. For once, the tension in the room dissipated, and you felt like there was finally some kind of common ground between the two of you. You finally gave him a smile, nodding your head toward the kitchen as you stepped backwards toward it, the smell drifting through the room. “C’mon. I made noodles again. Maybe you’ll actually eat it this time.”

162 notes · View notes

writingsbychlo · 4 years

Text

more ways than one (08)

word count; 7323

summary; a further look into his past reveals some secrets he never wanted to acknowledge, and a new pathways forwards after his death.

notes; I know the warnings might freak you out, but bear with me, okay?

warnings; reference to death, gore, violence, mentions of suicide, adultery, abuse, mentions of self-harm, torture and mentions of depression.

You felt numb and hollow, your fingers brushing the hair out of his eyes as you looked down at his body on the ground. The pack had been working around you for days, cleaning up the mess that had been the loft, and while you knew it was wrong - borderline creepy - you weren’t really sure what to do with the man before you.

What exactly did one do with a dead angel?

If he was decomposing, the wolves would be able to smell him by now, and yet he was exactly the same, his skin was paler but he still looked at peace, simply as if he was asleep, and you smoothed your fingers over the lines in his forehead, hoping to rub them away delicately with the pad of your thumb.

You were all cried out over the boy on the floor, your eyes were stinging, your skin was raw from tears, and your throat sore, and now you just felt hollow. Like he’s been a part of you, and something within yourself had died when he did. His skin was cold to the touch, and he almost looked as though he’d been chiselled from marble, a perfect creation that would remain untarnished for a millennia. His fingers, the ones that remained, would blow in the breeze each time the door opened, and you pulled your knees up to your chest as you sat beside him on the uncomfortable floor, crossing your arms across the tops of your legs and resting your cheek upon them as you simply watched him.

He had changed you monumentally, you may have saved him but he had saved you too. You had felt hopeless, useless and utterly lifeless before he had come along, something had always felt missing and with him, you felt as though that spark for life and passion had come back. You had your friends, who were more like family at this point, and yet he had made you feel more complete, like you finally had everything you needed in life.

You wanted to bury him, to put him to rest and let him be, to make him a beautiful grave that you could visit and thank him for each time you remembered the reason you were alive was because of his selfless bravery, and yet you still had no idea how he would want his life to have been celebrated, how it should be, you knew nothing, because you had never had the chance to ask.

A hand landed on your shoulder, and you looked up, a familiar face with warm whiskey-coloured eyes peering down at you as he squeezed comfortingly, and he took a seat beside you, wrapping an arm over your shoulders and holding you tight as your face pressed into his neck, muffling your sniffle of sadness.

“I really cared about him, Stiles.”

“I know you did, sweetheart. He saved my life too, y’know. He was a pretty cool guy, even if he did let me get possessed.” You let out a watery laugh into his skin, but you soon cut it off, hiccuping back a sob. He rubbed his hand up and down your back, trying to ease your aching heart as he watched you mourn for the man you cared so deeply for, the man you may have even loved, as he lay dead on the floor having sacrificed his life for you.

“I miss him.”

“I know.” He pressed a chaste kiss to your skin, scattering you hairline and temple with the sweet affections as he did his best to comfort you, and your hands gripped his shirt.

“I want him back, Stiles, there’s so much I never got to say to him.” He shushed your erratic mumbles, soothing you delicately as you hid your splotchy and wet face in his shoulder. “I wanted to show him the world, I wanted to show him everything that was amazing in the world.”

You coughed to clear your throat, feeling your body shaky, and a pair of arms hooked under your legs, pulling you away from Stiles, your head snapping up, a scowl on your lips as you looked at Derek, pushing against his chest angrily and his arms only tightened around you.

“Put me down, Hale! Let me fucking go!”

Yoe scratched at the arms holding you, and he hissed at you did, the wounds quickly healing but he never let up as he walked towards the spiral staircase in the room, and you caught sight of all the sad eyes watching you go, the pack looking on remorsefully as you were carried upstairs.

“Derek, please, I need to be with him!”

“You’ve been sat there for two days, it isn’t healthy. You need to sleep.” He dropped you down on the bed, frowning at you in a way that didn’t read as anger but more of concern and brotherly love, and you fell back into the pillows as he effortlessly tugged the blankets out from underneath you, dragging them up and over your body as the hand on your shoulder pushed you to lie down. You protested, but only for a second, before a yawn was cutting you off, and he chuckled down at you as he crossed his arms. “Exactly. You’re tired. I’ll be downstairs, okay? Please, get some sleep.”

He drew the curtains, the darkness only making you more tired, and the cosiness of the bed was really drawing you in, and so you pressed your cheek into the pillow beneath you, silence encasing you as the door clicked shut softly, footsteps receding until the only sound was your light breathing and your steadily beating heart.

Within only a few moments, darkness was taking you over, and you let it, sinking into the sweet relief of unconsciousness, as it temporarily relieved your guilt and lifted the weight that was crushing your heart, even it would only be for a little while, because as the darkness took you in, you finally felt like you would get some peace too.

Pride

There he was, watching himself, like something from ‘A Christmas Carol’ as he watched his own actions from another perspective. He could remember this particular moment clearly, his previous self chuckling away as he watched his charge of the time march an army into battle, despite knowing that they would lose. He was invested, he was prideful, and he wanted to win the game, because it was during this time that human life had seemed as trivial as a board game to him. He felt nausea twisting in his gut, knowing that if he was going to relive his life, have it flash before his eyes, it wasn’t going to be something he would be proud of, something he’d have wanted to share.

His head pounded, so painfully his eyes closed for a split second, before he was opening them once again as the pain dissipated, and now he was seeing something new, a different moment. It was the day you’d had your breakdown, the first and only big argument the two of you had ever had, and he watched on as he swallowed down his own ego and pride to come back to you, after sulking in the woods for a while, and despite knowing how this oh-so-recent memory played out, his heart was still racing in his chest as he watched you drop to your knees, clutching at your chest as you struggled to breathe.

His own eyes watered as he watched you, your body trembling so violently he thought your teeth may crack, curled up on the floor as you struggled to contain yourself. He wasn’t there yet, his previous self, and he reached out a hand to touch you, to ease you, seeing you in pain only making him feel worse. His hand was placed on your arm, and yet, he couldn’t feel you, he couldn't do anything to help, and his chest felt like he was the one who couldn’t breathe as he watched you suffer. Finally, he watched himself stumble into the room, and at that moment he’d never been so grateful that he’d been able to come back to you despite the argument, despite knowing he’d been in the right and you’d been in the wrong, because you ha needed him, and as his counterpart scooped you up as he remembered doing so clearly, he felt slightly more at ease.

Gluttony

He merely blinked, before the room was gone was again, and he spun around on his heel, panicked as he searched for you, and the loft he was so familiar with was now simply a long white corridor, no end in sight in either direction but exactly where he stood were doors, four on either side of him. He wasn’t nearly as lucky as ‘Ebenezer Scrooge’ had been, he didn’t get a guide, or someone to show him the way, he got nothing at all. Instead, he was standing in a large corridor, so gleamingly white and pristine that it almost made his eyes sting, and he took in the doors before him.

Six of the eight doors were hanging open, just a crack, not enough to give him a glimpse of what lay inside, the lights out in each. One door, the door labelled ‘pride’ was tightly closed, and he sighed, running his fingers over the wood carefully. The other closed door was unlabelled, this one had a lock on it, and he suspected it to be sealed, not that he was expecting anything good to lay on the other side, in fact, he assumed that to be where his fate lay.

Looking to the next closest door, he read the words carved into a golden plaque across the front, a frown pulling on his lips as he placed his palm flat on the wood and stepped into the room. Before him, he was presented with the loft, two scenes simultaneously laid out before him. One was himself, sitting at a large table with more food, wine and varied delicacies than he could possibly imagine, his feet popped up on the table as he stuffed himself full, never sparing even a scrap to the other dining places around his table. It wasn’t something he was unfamiliar with, he’d never been one to share, if he had it then he wanted it, and if he didn’t want it he’d rather it go to waste than for someone else to enjoy it.

He was scowling at his former self when your giggle cut through the reverie, his head snapping to the side as he watched you struggle to pour yourself a glass of pop while laughing, a movie he remembered you promising him was good flickering across the TV screen silently, a box of pizza with one slice remaining in it, and you were looking straight at him. This version of you could see him, and he made his way over to the couch tentatively, taking a seat beside you as you watched him.

You were still smiling, offering him half of the blanket you were snuggled under as you tucked it over his lap, and despite the fact you could see him, he still couldn't feel your hands on him as you smoothed the soft fabric down around him. He used his foot to push the box towards you, his stomach rumbling hungry, clenching in hunger as he looked at the final steaming piece of pizza, but he offered it to you anyway, knowing just how much you loved it.

You had split it, sharing the final piece with him as you held it out to him. It had been messy, bits of cheese and sauce dripping from the torn slice, and he’d had to dangle it over his head just to be able to eat and catch any pieces that fell, but it had been worth it. You had both ended up with greasy fingers and sauce all over your face, but he would much rather have shared with you and gone hungry then have eaten it all himself and been satisfied.

It was one of his fonder memories, of being with you and getting to take part in such an intimate time, and despite knowing it would have no effect, he placed a hand over your cheek in his memory, his thumb smoothing over your cheekbone. It was as though the second he tried to interact with you in a way that wasn’t a part of his lesson to learn that everything came crashing down. You were gone, in front of his eyes you slipped away, his arm dropping down to the couch, and the room trembled as cracks formed along the concrete.

He stood up quickly, the room shaking, and his eyes widened as the building began to fall away before his eyes. Nothing but an empty black void filled the space as the loft crumbled away, and he stumbled backwards, watching the tv, the couch, the blanket you had once been sharing all fall away into oblivion as he fell over his own feet towards the loft door.

He moved back through the door in such a rush that he barely registered the flash of the white corridor before his eyes, before he was falling through the door on his other side, landing on his back with a huff, a groan on his lips as he felt winded.

Greed

Feet rushed past on either side of his head, stepping over him and telling him to move, and he found himself on the floor outside of an office building, one he recognised from the late nineties. This was the charge he’d had just before he’d been assigned to Stiles, somewhere at this very moment, Claudia Stilinski had been in labour, giving birth to a boy that would change his own life without even knowing it.

At this moment though, his previous self had been distracted, never once making any moves to stop that path he had sent his charge down. This was the day he was assigned to Stiles Stilinski, because this was the day he let the man he’d been guarding before take his own life. His fingers wrapped around the handle, the door to the office not budging in the slightest, and he banged his hands on the wood, ramming at it with his shoulder, doing anything and everything he could to get into the office. Everyone else in the building could see him, he was getting odd looks and murmured whispers as he screamed as best he could, his eyes widened as he watched through the glass, seeing the man sitting at the desk, neatly arranging the photo frames of his family as he tidied away his belongings and left a neat desk.

This was the same man he’d allowed to embezzle almost $60,000 from a charity organisation, just because he had wanted to see what would happen. He remembered the sick feeling of satisfaction he’d had upon guiding him down a path of greed and fraud, and he remembered himself suddenly being assigned a new charge, never having been bothered to even find out what had happened to this one.

The gun laying on his desk was enough to tell him, the simple way that he was humming as he readied himself to die, and his back hit the wood as he slid to the floor, covering his ears and screaming loudly as the solid wall behind him shook with the loud bang that had gone off, the silence of the office building encasing him before screaming had taken up.

Tears were spilling down his cheeks, and he didn’t have to be shown anything this time, as you were already the only thing flashing through his mind. All the times he’d put your needs ahead of his, all the times he’d put your happiness before his own, all the times you’d meant more to him than anything he needed or wanted possibly could, as he tried to bury the guilt of the actions that had just taken place behind him.

Bodies hustled around him, someone fumbling with a set of keys as they tried to get the locked door open, and he fell backwards through it the second it opened, the smell of printer ink and metallic blood washing away as he rolled form stingy office carpet and back to the pristine tiles of the corridor of his reckoning.

The door slammed loudly behind him, just like the other two, and he lay on the ground, panting for only a second, before eventually dragging himself back up to his feet.

Lust

The atmosphere was already one that sickened him, and it was different from the rest. It was older, perhaps by a hundred or so years, and his body felt heavier as he tried to move. He felt like he could barely lift his legs, like he was weighed down to the ground, and with every step he took, it was harder and harder for him to move. This was perhaps the 1700’s, a time when he’d taken a particular liking to bending certain rules, adultery being one of them. He recognised the areas surrounding him, and he felt like a knife was twisting in his gut when a familiar-sounding laugh and voice, muffled from the door he’d entered through got clearer and clearer.

Large, meaty hands were sitting on your body, lips pushing against your own as you were backed into the room towards the bed, the man he’d been controlling already pulling at the strings of your corset, and anger flooded his system. He screamed, screamed and shouted and begged for it to stop until his throat had burned and his face had been red, before he'd pushed his hands over his ears and closed his eyes, and ignored the fact that he was being shown an illusion, something to hurt him.

He didn’t want anyone else’s hands on you, he didn’t want anyone else’s lips on you, he wanted you to be able to choose. Despite how much he’d been wanting to hold you, to kiss you, he’d always done his best to leave that to you, to let you make the first moves, he wanted it to go at your pace, and he hated the idea of someone else getting to touch you and hold you in a way that was meaningless, in a way that meant nothing other than some quick entertainment just because you were there.

You were so much more to him than just a lustful distraction.

With everything he had within him, he dragged himself to the door, it grew harder and harder, his fingertips bleeding and body aching as he pulled himself out of the room, not wanting to be present to such an illusion, to such a punishment, even if he did deserve it.

Sloth

The pain in his body seemed to slip away, and he almost felt like he’d stepped into something wonderful. This room was different, he wasn’t present like he was in the other, instead, he felt as though he was looking through a scrapbook. The room was stacked high with papers, each one holding a different task that he had failed to complete, another assignment or challenge, another duty he had neglected, the stacks reached the roof, papers covering the floor as he walked and stepped on the memories.

Sitting on the stacks, dotted around the room, hung on walls and lying on the floor were picture frames, and he navigated his way past the painful reminders of everything he had failed at, choosing to pick up a photo frame. It held a brief memory, playing out as he looked back on the time you’d taught him to cook, and he’d gone to the effort of learning, so that he could help you, or make the meals for you both instead on the days when you were particularly tired.

Another held the day he’d learned to do his laundry, the two of you unable to use the washing machine as you hid your presence from Derek, and he hand washed his clothes in the sink and hung them out the window so that they could dry, and you wouldn't have to take them home to wash and return for him.

He moved between them all, searching and hunting for more, until he was sure he’d seen every single one, and this room didn’t hold pain, it held an aching nostalgia as he watched the two of you smile, and he spent a while in there, laying the framed out on the floor in the order he remembered them, so that he could walk along and rewatch the development of his relationship with you.

When the time came, he wasn’t rushed for the room. Each frame seemed to flicker to black, progressively until each one showed him his own reflection, tear-stained cheeks and a wide smile, and it was with peace and satisfaction that he pulled the door shut behind himself, pressing his forehead to the wood, even if only momentarily, while he let the joy sink in.

Wrath

The loft was once again present when he entered the door leading to this sin, only two to go. He was well aware of everything he had done, reminders of his past sat around the room, and he ignored the group you called your friends as they cowered in the corner, choosing instead to look around at the trinkets and possessions he knew didn’t belong in Derek’s loft. The battle-axes sitting in a crisscrossed shape on the wall above the door, the dates of the battle carved into them.

The matching sets of slightly different rifles hanging on the coat rack, each with a hard-shelled helmet sitting on top, the dates of the world wars carved into each one, and the boxing bag in the corner with the gloves sitting on top of it, collecting dust. The fight that had ended his life had begun, and he knew how it played out, phantom pains of the bullet wounds on his chest beginning to flare up, and he pressed a hand to them absentmindedly. This room was a reminder of his biggest sacrifice, all the times he’d let fights and anger, malice and hatred get the best of him, and the one time he’d let his love take over as he gave everything up in a bid to protect and defend instead of attack and fight. He didn’t want to relive his death, he didn’t want to see you crying over him again, he didn’t want to watch himself break your heart, and so he made his way back or he door, not once looking back as he heard the bullets spray that had killed him open fire.

The deafening noise of the battle was silence as he stepped back into the corridor, only one door remaining, and he looked at it carefully, chewing on his lower lip with anxiety, before stepping towards it.

Envy

He had left this one until last for one very specific reason; because he already had a nauseating sickness telling him he knew exactly what was lying for him within this room.

He had always struggled with envy, it came hand in hand with greed, and while you’d been able to help him with every other issue he’d had, this was not one you could help him with. You made it worse, he wanted you, all of you. He wanted your attention, your love, your heart. He could never blame you for your friendship with Stiles, but he’d been jealous of it even before he’d been cast out, and he had never been able to move past it even when he was.

This room wasn’t a memory, the clock in the room was ticking loudly, the calendar on the wall was crossed off only two days after his death, and he was laying in the middle of the room. His guts twisted with jealousy as he watched you sitting beside him, Stiles making his way across the room to talk to you, to wrap his arms around you and hold you so close, to be the one who would still get to hold you, to love you and treasure you for the rest of his life.

There was no lesson to learn in this room, because no matter how hard he tried, he’d never be able to suppress it. This was his strongest weakness, his worst sin, because he wasn’t strong enough to overcome it, even with your help. He was always going to want love, and attention, and to be everything he possibly could. His reasons may have changed, but that simple fact would never go away, because he wanted to be everything to you, and he never would be.

He felt sick, watching as Derek scooped you up, carrying your screaming and thrashing body away from him, before the two of you disappeared up the stairs, and he followed after you both, watching as Derek disappeared with you into a bedroom with you still in his arms. He followed, stumbling over his feet and only catching sight of your tear-stained cheeks, and he wanted to be by your side, to sit with you as he saw you mourn, to ease your pain for him, and he screamed out in anger as he fell through the doorway.

The room slipped away, your body gone as he was back in the corridor, and he spun around, pushing idly at the now locked door of envy. He pounded, kicking and screaming as he willed himself to be able to return to your side, even if you couldn’t see him, he shouted your name, and punched at the wood until the white paint was smeared with blood and his knuckles were bleeding, tears flowing down his cheeks until he gave up, slumping against the wall as he was filled with despair.

The final door - the unlabelled one that had been locked, until now - creaked as it swung open, only an inch or so, to match how the others had been now that they were all locked so tightly behind him. His lesson had been learned, and despite what was on the other side of this door, he understood what he’d been told. He moved to it cautiously, peering at it with anticipation, but continued to lurk outside.

His hands trembled as he looked at the final door, the clicking of a lock sounding so loudly that he winced, and the noise echoed along the corridor to either side, his heart skipping a beat in his chest before he felt like it had stopped entirely, nothing but fear coursing his body.

You had shown him what it meant to care, to really try, and even if it had been too late to redeem himself, you had meant more to him than anything else ever had. You’d given him the power to change himself, and he’d done it without even meaning to, just for you. He’d changed, he’d learned, and it brought him peace as he managed to steady his racing heart and still his shaking hands enough to grasp onto the doorknob.

He expected fire, he expected agony and suffering and pain to match everything he had done. He expected to be burned, and tortured, and spend an eternity being inflicted with the same trauma he’d forced on everyone he had interacted with before you had come into his life, dragging him into the loft and forcing him to get better, forcing him to change.

With your face flashing behind his eyes, the feeling of your body still pressed to his as he remembered the hugs, the smiles and the laughs, he had the power to push the door open, and step into the blinding white light within as he whole-heartedly accepted everything he had coming to him.

You shuffled downstairs, swallowing thickly as you passed by the body that was still laying on the floor, now covered neatly with a white sheet, and you wrapped the thick bed covers that you’d brought with you even tighter around you, closing the warmth in to replace what you felt you’d lost, a cheap imitation of the warmth he’d brought to your life.

Stiles stumbled out of the kitchen when he heard your footsteps on the stairs, and he offered you a shaky smile, your best friend holding his arms wide out to you, and you slowly moved across the room, falling into them and he chuckled as a wad of cover smacked him in the face.

“I haven’t seen you wrap yourself up like this since I got possessed.”

“I like to become a burrito when I get depressed. It makes me feel safe. I’m a depression burrito.” You mumbled, voice muffled from where your face was pressed into his shoulder and he laughed loudly, the sound rumbling in his chest underneath you, his body shaking a little, and he squeezed you a little tighter before letting you go.

“All right, well, how about we get you some food, okay? Everyone but Scott has gone home, and Derek made a roast chicken. I don’t know where he got the chicken, he just arrived back with it after going for a run.” Your face scrunched up as he guided you to the kitchen, and you could see Derek scowling at Stiles from his place beside the oven.

“You saw me come in with a fucking grocery bag, Stiles, I didn’t wolf out and steal a fucking hen.”

You laughed loudly at the exclamation, pointing your friend a look, before you struggled to hop up onto one of the bar stools in your wrapped-up state, but managed it, Scott sending you a funny look from across the table, his face screwing up in a way that made you giggle, despite your sadness. The smell of chicken cooking in the oven, basted and seasoned filled your nose, and you let out a content sigh as you watched Derek wear his apron and chop potatoes to go with it, Stiles filling out a crossword in his puzzle book, and Scott texting away on his phone and doing his best to help Stiles, though he knew none of the words for the ‘diabolical’ level of puzzle.

“I need a six-letter word for ‘lacking of capability’.” He spoke aloud, and Scott began to eagerly scream off any synonyms he could handle, no matter what their letter count or real definition, and Derek snorted from the counter he was facing.

“Stiles.”

Scott cracked up laughing, and even you managed a smile, Stiles stocking his tongue out behind the werewolf, and as if sensing the motion, Derek flipped him off over his shoulder, before gasping loudly. “It fits.”

That only spurred the entertainment in the room, Derek chuckling as he scraped the chopped potatoes into a large pan of boiling water, before washing his hands and turning around to face you all at the kitchen counter. “How do you feel?”

“Despite being insulted, I am still sailing high, cruising a great mood, completing my crossword a-”

“Not you, dipshit.” Stiles beamed cheekily as you giggled, and he dropped one eye in a lazy wink, before going back to chewing on the tip of his pencil as he focused on the words he was missing, racking his brain extensively, his foot tapping under the table and the sound went unnoticed, as you were all used to his twitching by now. “I’m making you roast potatoes, I know you like them.”

“Derek, you don’t want to hear it, but I love you. You’re a cuddly wolf, really.” His lips formed a thin line, his eyes narrowing on you, but his cheeks heated up as he moved across the room, wrapping his strong arms around you and sealing you in a hug, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“I love you too. But don’t tell the others, I’m not saying it to them all, some of them are too annoying.” He spoke the final word loudly, Scott’s lips flicking up as he heard the whole thing with his enhanced hearing, but Stiles merely scoffed, mumbling some reply in insult before it trailed off into an exclamation of joy as he solved another word.

Derek went back to cooking, and you were happy to just settle into the atmosphere around you. You weren’t sure how long had passed by, but the light from outside had darkened down, stars twinkling in the sky as the loft was lit up by lamps and soft lights. Clearly, you’d passed out for hours, the entire day having slipped by you, but you couldn't deny that you felt better, physically.

You were in the middle of chatting to Scott about the difference between ‘Quicksilver’ and ‘The Flash’ when he suddenly stiffened, Derek doing the same, and you and Stiles looked between them carefully.

“Dude, what’s up?”

Stiles waved a hand in front of a frozen Scott’s face, and the wolf snatched at his hand and batted it away, before they were looking at one another, Derek and Scott both going on the defensive. “Heartbeat.”

Stiles all but fell out of his seat, his hands flailing around himself, and fear rose up in your chest. You had been so sure that you’d ended the benefactor threat, you were so certain it was all over, and yet now you were on edge again. A cough, a single cough echoed through the loft from the main room, and the group of you stumbled back into the large space, eyes wide as you looked around, claws out on both of the wolves.

A scream tore from your lips as you took in the sight before you, your eyes watering as your knees buckled beneath you, causing you to fall backwards into Scott’s chest and he stumbled to support you. On his hands and knees, a red splotch of blood that he’d coughed up onto the white sheets, was the man you had presumed to be dead, your eyes wide and entire body trembling violently as you stood frozen in shock.

Your fingers grasped at the duvet wrapped around you, your jaw hanging open, and Stiles moved first, travelling towards his double and patting his back as the man groaned out, wiping his mouth and mumbling the word ‘water’ as best he could on a dry throat. You couldn't move, you felt like your head was spinning, and at this point, you weren’t even sure if you were really awake or whether this was a dream that your grief-riddled mind had dreamt up to ease your suffering.

A frantic Stiles buzzed past you, emerging only a few moments later with a glass of water, the liquid sloshing up over the sides of the glass and splashing across the concrete as it hit the floor. Holding it out to him, he took deep chugs, drinking the entirety of the glass before handing it back to Stiles and thanking him. Both of the wolves had put away their fangs and claws, eyes simply wide, and you weren’t even shaken from your almost traumatised state when Scott nudged you forward, you just watched on with a hanging jaw and watering eyes as he finally looked up to you.

He stood on shaky feet, stumbling for a second and wiping the blood from the side of his mouth, before he was offering you a small smile, arms hanging simply by his sides as his eyes softened upon seeing you. “Hey there, sweetheart.”

His wounds had healed, everything from the slight grazes and scrapes on his skin all the way to the bullet wounds that had taken him from you in the first place. Colour was dripping back into his complexion, bringing his life back with every second that passed, and his feathers were falling away slowly, the broken ones and the still pure ones falling away to a heap on the floor until his shoulders were once again sitting bare.

His arms opened, lifting barely at all but his palms stretched out as he watched tears roll down your cheeks, your bottom lip held prisoner within your teeth and you let out a squeaky sound before dropping the blanket you had wrapped around you, darting across the room and throwing yourself into his arms, to be wrapped up in him instead. His arms sealed around you just as tight as yours were around him, his face buying in your neck as your chin sat on his shoulder, and he squeezed you tightly as you released a needy sob, tears splashing onto his bare skin from your cheeks.

His hand cupped the back of your head and his own body was trembling underneath you, your legs going weak just from the ecstasy of being held by him, and the two of you sunk down to your knees, never letting one another go as you did, until you were slumped on the floor and clutching onto one another desperately.

You heard the others shuffle back into the kitchen and you twisted your head, pressing your forehead against his cheek as he lifted his own, and you felt his breathless chuckle wash over your skin. “I got you, I got you, I promise.” He pulled back enough to cup your cheeks, pressing a shaky kiss to your forehead and you laughed, more tears spilling down your cheeks and his thumbs soothed them away, his lips pressing to the skin your tears had been upon as he soothed the sting. “Why are you crying? Don’t cry.”

“It’s good tears! It’s such good tears, I can’t believe you’re back, you’re back with me.”

“I’m back for you.” He whispered, his eyes fixed on your own, and the two of you watched one another carefully, before you leaned in, pressing your forehead to his as your eyes slid shut, and he let out a low breath that you didn’t know he’d been holding. “I saw. I saw you cry, and I saw how I am with you, and there was some kind of message, I’m not really sure but what I am sure about is that you are so important to me, and I need you.”

His lips pressed a tender kiss to the tip of your nose, his face barely moving, and you circled your arms around him even more tightly, holding him close to your body as you express everything you didn’t say in words with your actions instead. Your hands spread out over his skin, rubbing up and down his smooth skin, before you jumped back in surprise, and he startled a little in your touch. “Your wings are gone! You lost your wings, and your life, for me!”

“And I would do it all over again, a thousand times, if it meant keeping you safe.”

“Yeah, but, you don’t have scars this time.” You placed your hands on his shoulders, turning him around, and he looked back over his shoulder as far as he could, your eyes widening and mumbles of awe leaving you as you took in the detailed ink work on his skin. From the tops of his shoulders to just under the hem of his sweatpants was a beautifully detailed set of tattooed wings, covering the expanse of his back and almost hiding the patch of moles under his right shoulder, but you would never miss them.

Leaning in to press a kiss to the constellation on his skin, his muscles tensed and fluttered under your lips, and your fingers traced the intricate designs from the top to the bottom, covering all of the subtle lines and detailing. “What is it?”

“It’s.. incredible. It’s wings, a tattoo of beautiful angels wings, your wings, from your shoulders to the bottom of your back, and it’s breathtaking.”

“I wish I could see it.” He joked, and you tapped his shoulder, stumbling to your feet and he rose up after you to steady you, but you were already tripping over your own feet as you dashed across the room to grab your phone from where it was sitting on charge in the corner. Making your way back over to him, you positioned him under the lights, snapping a few pictures from different angles, before coming to stand at his side and holding up the phone screen before him.

You flicked through all of the photos, zooming in and pointing out different patches, until eventually, you realised he was no longer looking at the photos. Glancing up, you found his eyes already on you, a small smile on his lips as he stared at you, and your brows raised up. “What?”

He shook his head, licking over his bottom lip before taking the phone from you and tucking it into his pocket, his hands coming up to cup your cheeks, his eyes fixed on yours and your lips parted under the intense gaze he was fixing you with. “I love you.”

You took a sharp breath, eyes wide but you couldn't reply before his mouth was descending onto yours, his eyes sliding shut and lips meeting yours, pressing timidly to your own and a low moan sounded out. Your arms came up to wrap around him, your lips dragging together as he pulled back, before he was diving back into you with more confidence, pressing his lips to yours in a series of quickly deepening pecks, the kiss moving from short and chaste to passionate and drawn out, the smacking of your mouths together filling the silence of the room as his hands slipped down to settle on your waist, sliding around your body to hold you to his body tightly.

Your chest was flush up against his, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, pushing back into him with just as much enthusiasm and joy, your fingers weaving into his hair as his fingers tickled along your spine, running up and down in soothing patterns as he towered over you, your mouths connected in a heated exchange of emotions.

Your lungs were burning, and you pulled back, just long enough to take a deep breath and let your eyes flutter open to take in his ruddy cheeks and swollen lips, darkened eyes studying you so intensely that you felt yourself go pliant in his hold as his strong arms supported you. “I love you too.”

He beamed at you, leaning in and pressing his lips back to yours, sucking on your lower one teasingly as his tongue poked it’s way into your mouth, tangling with your own. This kiss wasn’t as needy or frantic, it was slower, and more intimate, a sigh leaving you and escaping into his mouth as your tongue played visible between your mouths each time your heads tilted and shifted to get deeper angles to one another.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, feeling his thumping just as excitedly from where you weer pressed together so closely, and you sunk back down from your tiptoes to resting on your feet properly, your breathing laboured as you tried to steady it, unable to hide the grin on your face as you felt him pepper your face and cheeks with kisses.

“Are you hungry? Does coming back from the dead make you hungry, or feel sick? It’s not exactly common knowledge.”

“I’m starving, actually.” His words were hummed out, and you laced your fingers with his before pecking his lips, pulling him in the direction of the kitchen as he followed after you. Glancing back over your shoulder, nothing but warmth and pure love filled you as your eyes found his, and he offered you a dazzling smile in reassurance, his fingers squeezing your own in reassurance, and finally, you felt like everything in your life had fallen perfectly into place.

138 notes · View notes

writingsbychlo · 4 years

Text

more ways than one (07)

word count; 4628

summary; the real battle comes around quicker than anyone was expecting, and has some disastrous outcomes.

notes; honestly, y’all are going to hate me.

warnings; gore, violence, graphic descriptions of injury, character death.

You brushed your fingers across the wings before you, humming under your breath, and the owner of said wings chuckled. His body shifted, the feathers fluttering with the motion and you let out a little gasp at the sight, and he fluttered them carefully for you once again.

“You like my wings more than you like me.”

You scoffed at his teasing, and he turned around, a pout forming on your lips and he chuckled, running his thumb over your lips and pushing them back from your puckered form, your eyes rolling fondly, eyes flicking over his face. “That’s a lie, they’re just so beautiful. I can’t help it, I’ve never seen wings before.”

“Did you spend this much time poking at Scott’s face when he started growing fur from his cheeks?”

“No, that’s gross!” The thought made you laugh, and said wolf scowled from across the room, your shoulders shrugging as you looked at him. “Sorry, Scotty.” The boy stared at you for a moment longer, before rolling his eyes, his lips tipping up in a smirk.

“Yeah, I was pretty weirded out, too.”

You turned your attention back to the man before you, a smile on his face as he took your hands, placing them under his arms and on his wings, very lightly, and he stretched them out widely, the soft feathers stretching out under your fingertips, before the limbs were wrapping around you, folding behind your back as he held you close to him, using them to nudge you a little closer.

Sunlight filtered through them, just enough to make it look like he was almost glowing, and you were thoroughly awestruck. Pulling your hands back, you trailed them along his arms, down to his wrists until your index and middle fingers were very lightly looped with his own.

“Incredible. Absolutely incredible.” You mumbled, and his eyes were fixed on you, you could feel them lingering on you as you took in the sight before you, before you finally let your eyes come back up to his. His fingers squeezed a little tighter around his, and you returned the sentiment, the moment being broken when a crashing realisation broke through, reality weight down on you as your face fell. He seemed to pick up on the change int he atmosphere, two fingers raising to push the hair that had fallen into your eyes backwards and out of the way, tucking it behind your ears as his own relaxed expression twisted into one of confusion and worry. “This means you have to go, doesn’t it?”

He sighed, his wings pulling back, folding away behind himself neatly and he lifted a shirt up and over his head, tugging it down to cover himself as he refused to meet your eyes. “I was hoping it would be a little while before you realised that. I should have known, though, you are astonishingly intuitive, after all.”

He hoped his joke would cut him some slack, perhaps you’d at least laugh, but the small smile yo offered him didn’t even reach your eyes, and your fingers fell away from his, his gaze darting down to look at his hands, now alone and hanging by his sides, and he curled them up to loose fists. It weighed heavily on him too, you could tell, form the way his shoulder slumped and his body leaned forward toward you, trying to catch your attention as his burning gaze stayed on you, intense and wanting of attention.

“I’m sorry.”

“You shouldn’t be! This is amazing for you! You get to go home.” Your voice was lighter than normal, borderline chirpy, and he’d heard this before when you had been talking on the phone to the others, when you had been lying to them about where you were, before the previous couple of day’s had transpired. Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest from your lie, and a heat rose up to your cheeks, your eyes focusing in on the slight bumps and cracks in the floor that suddenly felt more interesting than the swirling honey-brown irises you so enjoyed staring into. “I’m happy for you, I really am.”

“You don’t look happy.”

“I’m trying. Give me another day and I’ll be the happiest person you’ve ever seen. I promise.” You poked him in the stomach to accompany your joke, dipping your head and swallowing thickly, and the laugh he gave you was more o a service than of actual amusement, and his fingers under your chin tipped your head up enough for him to press a lingering kiss to your temple. His arms slid around your shoulders, pulling you in close to him as his chin rested atop your head, your own arms looping around his waist.

“Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I’m sorry it was so.. tense in the beginning.”

“You threw things at me when I came through the door and gave me near heart-attacks by running away twice.” Your words held no malice, and he gave you a genuine laugh this time, the chuckle reverberating in his chest and you could feel it from where your cheek was pressed to his torso. Tucking your fingers under his shirt, you brushed over the skin of his lower back, his skin erupting in goosebumps from the dull scrape of your nails, and his wings tucked protectively over your fingers. Whether it was purposeful or instinctual, you weren’t sure, but the soft feel of the feathers against your knuckles was calming, and you let out the breath you didn’t know that you were holding, feeling him so that same.

“I refuse to be held accountable for the second time. You told me to get out, you should just be grateful that I came back.”

“I am.” Your words were a whisper, and he squeezed you a little tighter, before letting you go, offering you a small smile in comfort.

“Me too.”

With those words, he was wandering away, bare feet on the concrete making very little noise as he walked away to the kitchen, presumably to find himself a snack, and you could feel the lingering eyes of those in the room hanging on you, but you chose to ignore them all, dropping down onto the couch instead and picking up one of the Harry Potter books you had left here so long ago.

Opening it up, you were barely three pages in when the couch moved under you, the cushions rippling from the weight of another body flopping down onto them unceremoniously, and you looked up, Stiles waggling his eyebrows at you as he shifted, happily placing his head in your lap as he grinned up at you with a cheesy smile.

“Read to me.”

“No.” You deadpanned, continuing to read in silence, and he gave you something between a pout and a frown, tapping the book as he crossed his legs, shifting against o get himself comfy, showing you that he had no indication of moving, and you sighed, raising a brow at him as you looked down.

“C’mon, you always used to read to me because I was too twitchy to do it myself. You’re the only reason I’m passing out literature class, and it always takes your mind off of things.” You paused, and the look he was giving you had shifted from playful to loving, your best friend watching you carefully, and you sighed, giving in and dropping the book down to rest on his chest, one hand coming up to lace into his hair as the other held the book open, and he hummed happily. “I also really like the Dobby voice you do.”

“Oh, shut it, you.” Your cheeks heated up, and he tried to muffle his loud laughs as you took off reading from the beginning once again, and soon, Lydia had made her way over to listen too, Scott listening in from across the room as he continued on with the puzzle he’d started, and your voice was the only sound in the loft, besides that of the occasional clatter and scrape front he kitchen as the guardian angel hidden from view cooked himself a meal.

It was late afternoon, sun filtering in through the bay windows and a gentle warmth in the air that the autumn carried in before the rain and the cold that the later months of the year shepherded in. Stiles was still lying across your lap, Lydia on the floor with her head leaning back against the edge of the couch, and you decided that it wasn’t so bad his way.

It may hurt to let your new friend go, but at least you still had everyone else that loved you, and whom you loved right back.

It was peaceful, and quiet, and you were sinking into the pure bliss of it all when the loft door was dragged open, your voice pausing in your reading as you took in the sight before you. With an arm slung around Derek’s shoulder hung Isaac, his shirt stained and bloody from where the two had simply gone on a run to scout the area, and your words died in your throat.

Stiles let out a whine in dissatisfaction, but was soon sitting up, following your gaze as Scott’s chair screeched across the floor and he raced forwards to wrap Isaac’s other arm over his own shoulder, the boy clutching at his side as his wounds healed, and Derek seemed pretty banged up himself. The trio soon to collapse to the floor, Isaac rolling onto his back with a groan as Derek panted, holding himself up on his hands and knees.

His eyes were flicking back and forth between the usual green shade and the vibrant neon of his inner wolf, and he took a deep breath, rocking back onto his knees.

“They’re coming.”

Your eyes were wide for a moment, Stiles practically rolling to the floor in his rush to get up, and Lydia was soon on her feet, her phone in her hands as she lifted it to her ear, calling to Allison, fetching the hunter alongside the were-coyote and the kitsune from their shopping trip to the mall. She was surprisingly adept, everyone around you seemed to be jumping into action as you floundered in the middle of the room.

Scott had already wolfed-out, he’d slid the main door closed and bolted it from the inside, but from, the ruckus on the metal stairs in the building shaking already you could tell that the action would only buy you a minute or two. Isaac and Derek were healing quickly, taking the time to do so before the fight began, and Stiles was kicking out a duffel bag that you recognised from the back of the jeep. The clanging of metal within it sounded out, your best friend dropping to a knee as he tugged the zipper down, all of you jumping when a loud banging sounded on the main door, voices muffled behind it.

Finally kicking your feet into gear, you stumbled your way to the kitchen as fast as you could, practically tripping over your own feet as you entered the room and two large hands found your forearms, catching you and holding you steady, your eyes moving up to his, his own wide and worried as you clung to him.

“They’re here! They’re here.”

“Just when I was about to make some pasta.”

His joke made you scowl, your jaw tight, and he swallowed thickly under your gaze, the pair of you jumping at the sound of creaking metal, a loud ringing sounding out into the room, and you peeked around the edge of the kitchen, dust clouding up into the air in plumes, the entire sliding door of the loft now laying on the floor, a crowd at least twice the size of the original one standing you down.

You knew you were in no danger, and as somebody unnamed and unknown who wasn’t on the list, neither was V. But, all of your friends, minus Stiles, were. You couldn’t let them die, you couldn’t let them fight for their lives, only for their deaths to be celebrated with a payment of money that had been stolen from Derek himself, and your friends were crowding around, backing themselves into a corner behind the three wolves.

Taking the hand of the man behind you, your fingers laced together, his squeezing just as tightly around your own and he followed behind you as the two of you ran to cover behind the trio of snarling werewolves. Cold metal met the tips of your fingers, Stiles’ hands curling your fingers around the handle of a heavy bat, and you freed your other hand to grip it tightly.

“You got me a bat?”

“After seeing your swing last week, it would be a crime not to.” He grinned, tapping the tip of his own against yours, the metal clinking the way wine glasses would in a slight ‘cheers’ motion, and you gave him a small laugh.

The joke was soon gone, and it was replaced with the slashing and cutting of claws on flesh, an array of weapons you’d never even seen before being used in an onslaught against your outnumbered friends, and you had yet to use your bat. They scarcely even made a move to touch the group of humans, only ever advancing once one of them recognised Lydia, and Stiles was quick to jump in and defend her, a swift swing of his bat to meet the back of his skull sent him toppling to the ground, his face meeting the concrete uncomfortably and Stiles used his foot to kick him to the side, disarming him of his weapons and rolling him onto his back and out of the way.

Your friends were growing more and more tired, they were soon being pinned in groups on the floor, and that’s when you made to advance. You did as best as you could, kicking and swinging at everybody you could as you tried to ensure the supernaturals you cared for so much could stay on their feet and out of harm’s way, but your next target was much taller than you had expected, and he stood to his full height, towering over you and growling.

With a single shove, you were flying backwards, your feet leaving the ground for a second before you hit the wall, the breath forced from your lungs and you crumpled to the ground, pain radiating through your back as you groaned, eyes closed for a second, your side hurting from where you had landed on the metal of the bat. With a hand on the floor, you pushed yourself up, the tall man walking towards you slowly, and you backed yourself up, pressing yourself as far into the wall as he looked down at you, snarling.

Your eyes closed, a grunt sounding out, the crunching of bones on the floor sounded and you cracked an eye open. He was on his knees, his legs kicked out from under him before a large fist met the side of his face, blood spattering from his lip, and you looked up to the man, wings fluttering under the material of his shirt, his foot meeting the mans face as his nose broke and his consciousness slipped away.

Using the wall to pull yourself up, you had a hand wrapped around your battered ribs, and he looked to you carefully, reaching his hand out to you, and you took it, swiping your bat from the concrete flooring as he pulled you towards him. Your arms wrapped around his waist, and a hand cupped the back of your head, your feet moving underneath you as he dragged you back to the corner, back to relative safety, pressing kisses to the side of your head as he did.

Just when things were looking down, the four of you backed into the wall as Scott lay on the floor, holding back the long blade of a knife from piercing his heart with his bare hands, Derek on his knees as a wire wrapped around his throat, arms held out and a foot pressed between his shoulder blades, as Isaac slashed and roared, but exhaustion seeped in, when the girls arrived.

An arrow pierced straight through the shoulder of the man that was trying to remove Derek’s head, and as the other two were distracted, Derek found a renewed strength, tearing his arms form the other two men and using his claws to pierce the sides of both of them, and they dropped to the floor, clutching at their sides.

Kira was moving with elegance and poise through the room as she all but cleared a path for herself with her sword, orange energy curling around her in glittering streams as she assisted Scott, offering a hand to him and helping him from the floor. Malia was the loudest of them all, she let almost everything animal in here take over as the room became practically a blood bath, and suddenly, the scores were evening up.

It seemed like it may be going in your favour, their high supplies of will power and weapons dwindling quickly, both teams fighting to exhaustion, and you defended both Lydia and V alongside Stiels with everything that you had.

You were aching, and bruised, and you were losing the ability to hold both the bat and your head up high, the metal slipping from your fingers as everything in your body screamed out from the exertion and in need for rest. You fell back into V’s chest, his arms clinging to you tightly as you panted, eyes lined with tears from both fear and pain, and he ran his fingers along your spine soothingly.

The click of a gun, far closer than you could let slide by, sounded out and you whipped your head around. Reaching for the bat on the floor, the man tutted, moving his aim from where it had been on the back of Malia’s head to you, and he clicked off the safety. Licking over his busted lip, he advanced on you, a wicked grin on his lips as he watched you try and take deep breaths, to steady yourself in the face of danger.

“You know, we weren’t here for you. You’re normal, but I have no problem killing you.”

His finger squeezed down on the trigger, and you heart the loud and screamed ‘no’ as the automatic weapon fired off several rounds, your body tensing and eyes squeezing as you braced yourself for the onslaught of bullets that were aimed at you, but the impact never came. Cracking your gaze open, white wings shrouded you, wrapped around you protectively as you stayed sheltered, and his hand landed on your shoulder, pushing you down to your knees as he fell to his own, a loud shout in agony leaving him.

You curled up on the floor, bullet holes and tears in the beautiful white feathers as they ripped and became shredded, the edges all but glowing red from the impact of the bullets tearing through them, hot as they threatened to burn his wings right from him. The battle waged on around you, your hands clutched to your ears as he sheltered you, his jaw hanging open as he cried out, hands clenched and knuckles bleeding as they dragged against the stone flooring from where he was propping himself up for support. His body trembled, and you could hear the bullet casings hitting the floor.

The noise was lessening, the clanging of steel stopping, the growls and roars finally dulling down to thudding punches and the sounds of bodies hitting the concrete. The grunts of those who weren’t fighting for your cause were becoming more frequent, and you were able to peek through the newly formed gaps in his wings as you watched the man trying to reload his gun with a fresh cartridge. V was letting out shaky breaths above you, barely able to hold himself up, and your hand slipped over his on the floor, squeezing tightly as you tried to convey everything you felt, and you watched Allison take the man down with ease, armed with a matched set of double-ended knives, and you breathed out a sigh of relief upon seeing him hit the floor, never to threaten anyone again.

Finally, the fighting stopped, and the trembling wings were able to retract from around you as the man was taken out, bodies littering the room, some dead and some simply unconscious, but you couldn't bring yourself to care because you had once again been victorious, your scraggly, rag-tag group of friends had succeeded in survival, and you turned to V after taking in the scene, a relieved smile on your face. Stiles dropped to his knees beside you, his hand smoothing over your face as he checked you over, and you gave him a shaky nod, before looking away to Lydia. She was trembling in the corner, her lips parted and eyes frantic as she looked around, and you promised Stiles that you were okay, before deterring him away to go and check on Lydia, dropping a wink in there at his chance to comfort the girl he loved so much.

“I can’t believe you just got your wings back and now they’re ruined.”

You let out a small laugh at your own words, turning to face the man who had protected you, and your hands reached up to sit on his cheeks, a smile on his lips as his eyes became hooded, and the broken and frayed wings dropped down, brushing the floor as he rocked back to his on his heels, and you knelt before him. Pressing your forehead to his, he tipped his face up and pecked the tip of your nose, lifting one of his hands tiredly to sit over your own on his face.

“You saved me.”

“We save each other, remember?” He cracked a small joke, his voice raspy and hoarse, and you gave him a smile, shaking your head fondly before your eyes dropped down, a gasp leaving you as your eyes took in the blood seeping through his shirt.

“You’re hurt?”

He hummed, his eyes had closed and he swayed slightly, before he was tipping over to the side and you let out a desperate scream as you caught him before his head could hit the floor. Shuffling quickly, you rested his head in your lap, your hands shaking as you watched thick red blood pump out from between his fingers, clutching at his ribs. Peeling his hand away, three bullet holes were evident in his shirt, mangled flesh underneath, and he coughed violently, blood gurgling in his throat and dripping from the sides of his mouth.

“You got shot!” Your voice was practically out of hearing range it was so high, and attention snapped over to the two of you, the group gathering around as he tried to swallow down on a sore and filling throat, taking desperate breaths, one of his lungs struggling from the impact of the bullets, and you panicked, sending Allison and Kira to go and fetch medical supplies from the kitchen. “I can fix this, I can fix this!”

His hands rested over yours, trying to hold onto your hand as his blood stained your skin, still trickling from the wound as his already pale skin continued to lose it's colour, quickly, and you choked back a sob, your hands pulling at the end of his jumper to try and lift it up. He watched you, blood smearing across your cheeks as you wiped at your eyes, trying not to drip tears onto his face as you cried, and you felt a pair of hands find your shoulder. Scott dropped down to a knee on one side of him, black veins crawling up his arms from the moment he lay his hand on V’s arm, and Isaac did the same, a peaceful expression taking over his face as the pain temporarily slipped away, and this time you let the sob come out.

The girls returned with everything you may need, dropping it beside you, but his hands came up to take your own, holding them steady and squeezing with all the strength he had as he smiled at you. “Why aren’t you healing? You should be healing!”

“I may have gotten my wings back, but even angels can only heal so fast.” His words were cracking as he spoke, and he coughed again, clearing the blood from his mouth and you freed a hand, resting it over his cheek and soothing your thumb over his cheekbone, your chest feeling like there was weight, pushing down on you as you tried to suck in breaths and stay strong.

“You’re going to die, because you saved me.”

“It was worth it. You were worth it, and I’d do it again.” He mumbled, your lips quivering as you looked at him, and he laced his fingers through yours, squeezing your hand with both of his, his head pressing into your lap as he looked up at you.

“I can’t save you! We’re supposed to save each other but I can’t save you.”

“You already saved me, sweetheart. In more ways than one, and I will forever be thankful for that.” He whispered, your chest shaking as you sobbed over him, and you brushed his hair out of his face, lifting his hand up to your lips and kissing along his knuckles, his eyes fluttering shut, a small smile on his face. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Please, stay with me.” You whispered, and he hummed, taking your hand to his own mouth and pressing his lips there, his head tipping to the side, his eyes staying shut as he rested his cheek against the back of your hand. “Don’t you dare die on me! I need you!”

“You don’t need me, you’re going to be just fine.”

You shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut to hold back your tears, and when you opened them, Scott was pulling back his hand, Isaac too, the black veins disappearing as the pain he felt no longer existed, and a loud cry left you, your body shaking as you leaned over him. “No, no, no, this isn’t how it was supposed to be.”

A firm pair of hands found your shoulders, and you pushed against them, the fight in your body practically none existent and your face was easily tucked into a shoulder, your sobs muffled as your tears soaked into the flannel, and you pulled your hands up to grip at his shirt. The material was clenched underneath your hands, and his arms wrapped around you, squeezing you tightly as he fell back, sitting with you in his arms as he held you steady.

Lydia dropped to her knees, pressing a hand over his chest, broken and bloodied wings spread out around him, and her fingers spread out as she let one of her own tears go. She mumbled an apology, about never having seen his death coming when the sense washed over her, and you didn’t have to be supernatural to be able to sense that everyone was reeling from his death.

Nobody was suffering as much as you were, because while you may have saved him in many ways, he’d done so much for you, he’d given you hope in your friends and your life again and he had forced you to see the light through the darkness, and you knew that he had saved you too.

129 notes · View notes